


X

by sventastic (svensationalist)



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-10-10
Updated: 2010-10-10
Packaged: 2017-10-27 11:28:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/295343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/svensationalist/pseuds/sventastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>noun 1) the Roman numeral for ten. 2) indicating an unknown, unspecified, or variable factor, number, person, or thing. 3) indicating an error, choice, or a kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing X before the Impel Down arc finished, so there may be some canonical discrepancies. Also, I made the Whitebeard pirates complete assholes just for fun and the sake of my strange plot, so if that's not your cup of tea I won't feel offended if you decide not to read this. I also have the most random chapter lengths.

 

 _An explosion violently ripped apart the midnight sky and spat an undulating mass of flames and thick smoke upwards.  Seconds later, a wailing siren cut through the night._

 _The effect was immediate.  The facility, previously unseen and still, sprang into a frenzied flurry of motion; people quickly swarmed away from the site of destruction, and the building itself shuddered from the force of the blast.  And soon, more loud bangs shook the doomed structure, followed by the low rumble of machinery, the sharp staccato of gunfire, and desperate shouts of pain and “Buster Call!”._

 _There was a panicked scramble to evacuate the area quickly.  Yet instead of leaving immediately, many stayed within the facility.  Valuable research, experiments, technology – all, or as much of it as possible, needed to be protected.  Salvaged.  Otherwise, everything was wasted._

 _But there were three concerned about something else entirely._

 _“Come on – we have to leave now, while everyone is distracted,” urged the tall, cloaked figure to his two significantly shorter companions.  His left arm hung limply at his side, and this fact did not escape the notice of the smallest person present._

 _“What happened to your…?” the youngest child began uncertainly._

 _“Got hit by shrapnel,” the man said dismissively.  He evidently held other matters at a level of higher importance than his damaged limb.  “We have to leave_ now _,” he insisted once more._

 _As the youngest child opened his mouth to speak, the other youth shook his head.  The words never came, and the three of them hastily left the chaotic scene.  Minutes became hours, and the younger two grew steadily exhausted.  But onward they continued, shepherded along by the cloaked man with the bleeding arm._

 _It was more morning than night – although the dawn was a long way off – when the tired trio reached their destination.  A large train gleamed dully from the cold moonlight reflecting off its metallic surface._

 _“This,” the man declared, “is our ticket out of here.”  He glanced around cautiously before whispering, “Stick close to me, and be as quiet as you can.”  His two companions nodded mutely and the three of them crept along the length of the train.  The cloaked man carefully felt along the metal machine with his right arm, trying to find a way in._

 _A peal of laughter made the runaways freeze in their tracks.  The man pulled the two children close to him and they huddled as far beneath the train as they could.  Soon they could hear voices growing more distinguishable as their sources neared, but even with the added clarity, the escapees could only hear garbled fragments._

 _“… heard… did you see… big… serves ‘em right… ready… leave in fifteen… tired…”_

 _The voices soon faded away, but the three dared not move until after they waited for a few more minutes of uneasy silence.  The search for an entrance resumed with newfound urgency.  Their time was running out, and then their only hope would vanish like the voices…_

 _“Found one,” the man finally stated, relief flooding his voice.  He hoisted himself up onto the train and pressed his ear warily against the cold metal.  Hearing nothing, the man cautiously pulled on the large door.  The metal groaned in protest, but the man was persistent.  Eventually, the door was opened wide enough for the man to enter, and he did so._

 _“Him first,” the older child said as the man extended his one good arm towards the children.  “I can haul myself up afterwards.”_

 _Before the man agreed, a louder metallic groan rang through the night.  The train started to move.  The man cursed and said urgently, “Give me your hands!”_

 _The two children tried, but the train began rumbling louder and the man went further away, and they had to run after him.  The older one grabbed the younger child’s hand and pulled him towards the man, and they ran as fast as they could towards the outstretched arm, but the train was just out of reach._

 _The younger stumbled, already tired from his long trek.  And the older knew that the two of them would never catch up, and so did the man on the train._

 _“We’re not going to make it,” the older child said grimly, “but_ you _can.”_

 _Then the man had to stretch out further, because the younger child was flung clumsily towards him.  “You can still make it!” the man yelled to the youth left behind, but it was a lie, and all three of them knew it._

 _“Ace!”  The youngest struggled but the man held him back tightly.  “ACE!”_

 _And the train accelerated…_

 _“Goodbye, Luffy!” Ace shouted, but the train’s whistle drowned out his voice._

 _And the train kept going… and going…… and going……… and going……………_

 _Ace remembered following the tracks until exhaustion and too many shed tears made him fall asleep.  When he finally awoke, the sun was up, the train was still gone, his eyes were dry, and… he wasn’t alone._

 _“Welcome back to hell,” the tall figure declared._

\-- 

 

 **I**

 

1

the Roman numeral for ten;

 

 _No one starts a war – or rather, no one in his sense ought to do so – without first being clear in his mind what he intends to achieve by that war and how he intends to conduct it._

  
_(Carl von Clausewitz, Vom Kriege)_

 

\--

“Son,” Whitebeard said, his low voice gravely.

“… Father,” Ace replied, trying to keep the bitterness in his voice hidden.

It wasn’t, but neither of them decided to comment.

“What do you need me to do, pops?” Ace asked.

Whitebeard laughed.  “The time has finally come,” he declared.  “Our years of preparation are finally complete.  Now, my son, we can finally finish this tedious affair once and for all.”  He paused.  “You cannot fuck this up, am I clear?”

Ace nodded.  “Crystal clear,” he said dryly.

“You’ll be doing what you’ve always been doing,” Whitebeard stated.  “You will deceive, you will gain information, and people will die.  But after this, there won’t be a _next_ time.”

“We’re going to destroy them?” Ace asked, raising an eyebrow.

“If you don't fuck up,” Whitebeard said, a warning of dire consequences laced into his conversational tone.  “Talk to Marco.  He’ll give you the details.”

“Who do I murder this time?” Ace said questioningly.  His eyes narrowed.

“Talk to _Marco_ , you damn brat,” Whitebeard grumbled.  “Now get out of my sight immediately before I kill you.”

Ace smiled coldly.  “Good. That’d give me the excuse to kill _you_ ,” he said airily.

Whitebeard laughed again, but without a trace of humour.  “Carry on, my wayward son, and I’ll fucking kill you for real.  Leave.”

As Ace left, he wondered rather cynically if the ancient bastard would end up dying naturally before he returned.

\--

They called them the Children of the Devil.

Results of Whitebeard’s experimentation, they were truly demons.  They were manmade weapons, but more resembled men made _into_ weapons: deadly killing machines in the guise of ordinary human beings.

The first Children started off quite harmless.  Paltry powers, such as becoming candle wax, being frictionless, things nobody would concern themselves over.  But then there were people who could not be cut or shot, people that could transform into beasts, people that could shift into elements that were virtually indestructible… and it suddenly became a problem.

The world government tried to stop Whitebeard from using these biological weapons in their war.  It nearly succeeded through its discovery and subsequent bombing of the place where the Children were created.  But Whitebeard was clever and managed to protect his research despite the destruction of his facility, and the Children continued to be produced.

It was devilishly difficult to destroy the Children.  They were hard to find, and once they were found, hard to eradicate.  Even through the discovery of a fatal weakness the Children shared, they were still a formidable military force.  It was simply impossible to provide every soldier with seastone to use, and there was no possibility that all of the Children would drown on their own.

Try as it might, the world government could not find a way to eliminate the threat of Whitebeard and the Children.  And with another force of revolutionaries trying to overthrow it, the government could not place its entire efforts against Whitebeard and the Children.  So the world waited desperately for a miracle.

But the Devil gives no miracles.

\--

The apartment was passable.  Sparsely furnished, but then again, he had just moved in.  “I’ve been in worse,” Ace said to himself.

Clothes were unpacked, then folded and neatly tucked into drawers or hung on hangers in the closet.  Toiletries were placed carefully in the bathroom.  Everything had to be in its proper position.

Ace regarded himself in a full-length mirror.  _I am a worker for the government_ , he thought.  This would take some convincing acting since he was the exact opposite, but Deception might as well have been his middle name.  Besides, he had plenty of practice for nearly the same scenario many ‘missions’ before.  He would pull through, like every other time.  Next…

 _I hate Whitebeard_ , Ace thought.  And really, this one wasn’t tricky at all; it was completely true.  It would take no effort to act like he despised Whitebeard, and Ace looked forward to being able to publicly loathe the conniving bastard without consequence as much as he pleased.

Then came the difficult part.

Delaying the inevitable, Ace examined his reflection.  His shorter-than-usual haircut, boyish freckles, and tidy suit made him seem like a trustworthy co-worker.  He smiled his best smile.  Definitely trustworthy.  ‘Genuine’, even.  Ace tightened his tie, straightened his shoulders, then glanced at his watch and decided to practice one last time.

“… I’m ready,” Ace said hollowly, feeling everything but.

He _was_ the master of deceit, but this lie would always fail to fool him.

\--

“Mr. Portgas?”

Ace turned around to face the origin of the timid voice and saw a petite woman with thick-rimmed glasses and short black hair.  He offered her his politest smile, extended a hand, and said, “Just call me Ace.”

“Ah, I’m Tashigi Shigure,” the woman said nervously, blushing.  She shook Ace’s hand and said, “Please follow me, u-um, Ace.”  The blush turned redder.

 _She was easy to fool_ , Ace contemplated.  _One down, the rest of the government to go._

The two of them walked in silence for a few minutes until they stopped in front of a dark wooden door.  Ace noted that it was at the end of the hallway.  _Must be an important fellow I ended up with_ , he mused.

Tashigi fumbled with the lock and opened the door.  “Your partner isn’t here at the moment,” she explained, “but he’ll be arriving in a few minutes.  One of the desks is yours.  And, um, good luck,” Tashigi added before excusing herself and leaving.

 _I_ wish _I had good luck_ , Ace thought wryly while placing his briefcase on the empty desk.  He looked curiously at the other desk that was covered with stacks of files.  Ace decided not to snoop around (yet) in the folders, even though they may have contained useful information.  He didn’t need to have suspicion against him at such an early stage in the game.

The office was plain.  The person who worked there – a man, from what Tashigi hinted – evidently did nothing _but_ work.  No personal touches, no photos of family or friends, no extra furnishings…  Just the bare essentials.

Ace glanced out the large window.  The view was all right… There was nothing interesting, unless he felt like spying on the office workers in the next building, but that was a waste of effort.  He needed to spy on the person who worked in the room he was standing in, not the moron that he could see in the other high-rise who was playing with his stapler. 

A small vibration in his pocket alerted Ace to the fact that it was 10:00am.

The door suddenly slammed open, and –

“I’ll give you until the count of ten to _get the fuck out_ before I _kill_ you,” snarled a large man with two cigars, whitish hair, and a screaming aura of ‘piss off, motherfucker’.

 _Charming_ , Ace thought wearily.

\--

He hated the number ten.

Everything that went wrong in Ace’s life had something to do with it.  He wasn’t superstitious in any sense, but the number ten was the one thing for which Ace would always have irrational feelings.

He spent the first ten years of his life trapped within Whitebeard’s facility.  Ace could not remember ever leaving the damn place before he was ten years old.  According to Marco, he had been there since right after his birth.  Ace had no fond memories of those ten years except for Luffy and Shanks.  But that did not last.

It took only ten seconds to lose them.  Luffy, who might as well have been his brother.  Shanks, the only kind adult he ever knew.  And the train tore away his loved ones in the longest and shortest ten seconds of his life.  Ace never saw them again.

He cried for ten days before he officially became a member of Whitebeard’s ‘family’.  Ace knew for as long as he lived that he would end up ‘working’ for Whitebeard.  It did not change the fact that he did not want to.  But that in turn did not change the fact that he did not have a choice in the matter. 

… There were ten… _before_ him.  Ace remembered the overwhelming and absolute _horror_ he had felt when he saw their blackened and twisted corpses carelessly piled in a corner…

It took ten hours for him to become a monster – ten _agonizing_ hours that made him scream and writhe violently against restraints that cut into his skin.  The unbearable pain had consumed his entire being like a ravenous fire.  And in hindsight, it was essentially just that.

He was forced to murder ten people.  Ace never forgot any of their faces, their corresponding names, their likes and dislikes, their personalities, their quirks and habits…  He hated the fact that he remembered them like friends, because that was _what they were_ before they realized he only grew close to them in order to kill them.  Their deaths were bitter and only served to remind Ace daily of Whitebeard’s love for cruelty.

Ace became Fire Fist during the later ten years of his life.  He was a wanted criminal across the whole world: guilty of homicide, association with Whitebeard, and last of all, existing.

And on October 10th, at 10:00am, Ace discovered that he was about to spend ten months working with one of the top ten jackasses of all time.

\--

“Sorry, I didn’t realize that this was your desk,” Ace apologized.

“Well now you do, so _get your shit off it_ ,” the older man growled.

Ace’s left eye twitched slightly.  _Remain civil_ , he told himself.  _Remain_ civil _regardless of how much you want to kill him right now._

“What are you waiting for? For your briefcase to sprout legs and move on its own?” said Mr. Soon-To-Be-Defenestrated sarcastically.

 _Fuck civility_ , Ace thought decisively.  “I’m _terribly_ sorry,” he declared with as much insincerity as he could muster.  “I was _such_ a fool to assume that the desk _without_ paperwork on it was mine, and the one covered with _your_ stuff wasn’t yours!  Now _why_ didn’t I figure _that_ out?!”

“ _Your_ desk has _my_ work on it because I like keeping _my_ desk clear of _crap_ ,” the older man ‘explained’.

Mildly stunned by his co-worker’s combination of utterly illogical logic and complete disregard of common courtesy, Ace exclaimed indignantly, “And who do you think _you_ are, anyway?”

“Smoker,” was the snide reply.

“Congratulations, you remembered your own name,” Ace said dryly.  “I’m Portgas D. Ace and I can’t _wait_ until we start working together.”

“What kind of fucked up name is ‘Portgas?’” Smoker snorted.  “Your parents chose it for you?”

The slight twitch returned to Ace’s eye.  He ignored it along with the strong urge to correct Smoker about his very false assumption.  “I’ll move my briefcase now,” Ace muttered irritably.

“About fucking time, you damn brat,” Smoker grumbled, sounding a little too similar to a certain someone Ace was not particularly fond of in any fashion.

 _Ah, that must be the sound of my patience throwing Smoker out the window_ , Ace thought blankly.  He walked over to _his_ desk and cheerfully knocked over half of _Smoker’s_ paperwork onto the floor with his briefcase.  Predictably, Ace received a rather intimidating glare that probably would’ve killed a normal man.

Thankfully, Ace was anything but easily intimidated.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Ace asked, raising an eyebrow while smiling sardonically.  “For your paperwork to sprout arms and pick itself up?”

“GET OUT!”

It was going to be a long day.

\--

“How’s your partner?” said the voice from the small black cellphone.

Ace glared vehemently at the wretched thing – imagining a smirking pineapple-head in its place – before returning it next to his ear. “He’s a _first-class bastard_ , and you know it,” he growled.  Hearing amused laughter, Ace hissed, “ _Damn it_ Marco, it’s _not_ funny!”

“It _is_ … to me,” was the mocking retort.

“I’m going to _break_ the damn phone!” Ace threatened, hand already painfully gripping the object in question which was, regrettably, rather resilient against abuse.

“Don’t be so hasty, eh?” Marco said, chuckling. “You’ll do just fine.”

“And how am I supposed to ‘do just fine’ if I just want to _murder_ the asshole the next time I see him?” Ace asked, irritation clearly audible within his voice.  “Last time I checked, corpses don’t talk.”

“Well, he _won’t_ be a corpse,” Marco declared with deceptive calm.  Then the conversation ended.

Ace hurled the (unfortunately sturdy) cellphone at the wall and it bounced off unharmed.  “Ten months,” he muttered.  _One more job_ , Ace thought desperately. _Just_ one _more job_.  Then the war would end, the government would fall, Whitebeard would leave him be, and Luffy would be safe.

And Ace would finally be free.


	2. II

 

 **II**

 

2

indicating an unknown,

 _Truth never dies but it lives a wretched life._

_(Yiddish Proverb)_

 

\--

 

 _“Fire Fist”_

 _Wanted alive for questioning. Capture by any means necessary._

 _  
_

_Description:_

  

  *   
_Whitebeard spy and assassin_   

  

  *   
_COTD, Mera Mera (Logia)_   

  

  *   
_personal info and actual appearance unknown_   

  

  *   
_age estimated to be between 20 and 30 years_   

  



_Case 1 (2000):_

  

  *   
_4 unidentified bodies (children); c.o.d.: burned alive_   

  

  *   
_Fire Fist alias: n/a_   

  

  *   
_more children reported missing than corpses found_   

  

  *   
_children possibly used for further COTD experimentation or WB’s research_   

  

  *   
_4 dead (children)_   

  



_Case 2 (2004):_

  

  *   
_Vice Admiral Komir (commander of G2 base); c.o.d.: burned alive_   

  

  *   
_Fire Fist alias: Louie Fuchsia (soldier at G2)_   

  

  *   
_intelligence concerning WB’s whereabouts stolen from base, probably destroyed_   

  

  *   
_G2 razed to the ground_   

  

  *   
_1 dead (Komir), 7 severely wounded, 304 mildly injured_   

  



_Case 3 (2004-2005):_

  

  *   
_Chief Jailer Shiryuu (chief jailer of Impel Down); c.o.d.: burned alive_   

  

  *   
_Fire Fist alias: Red Shankson (Vice Guard at Impel Down)_   

  

  *   
_led jailbreak of other WB and COTD inmates, many other convicts also escaped_   

  

  *   
_lower levels of Impel Down damaged beyond repair_   

  

  *   
_1 dead (Shiryuu), 287 severely wounded, 1209 mildly injured_   

  



_Case 4 (2005-2007):_

  

  *   
_Jerry, Wanze, Spandine (CP6, CP7, CP9); c.o.d.: burned alive_   

  

  *   
_Fire Fist alias: Roger Kingsley (CP8)_   

  

  *   
_carefully assassinated only the three closest to him at annual Cipher Pol meeting_   

  

  *   
_fire damage to Enies Lobby_   

  

  *   
_destroyed COTD research facility, armaments factory, and intelligence on WB’s research_   

  

  *   
_stole blueprints of some seastone weaponry and technology_   

  

  *   
_3 dead (Jerry, Wanze, Spandine), 314 severely wounded, 2034 mildly injured_   

  



_Case 5 (2007-2008):_

  

  *   
_Papyroo Rodrigez (politician); c.o.d.: burned alive_   

  

  *   
_Fire Fist alias (unconfirmed): “Rouge” (secretary)_   

  

  *   
_victim was large supporter of government, funded COTD research_   

  

  *   
_assassinated at public speech, thus spreading panic of WB among the public_   

  

  *   
_“Rouge” rumoured to have been Rodrigez’s lover (unconfirmed)_   

  

  *   
_1 dead (Rodrigez), 2 severely wounded, 5 mildly injured_   

  



_Recent activity (2008- ):_

  

  *   
_no deaths since Rodrigez’s assassination_   

  

  *   
_two arson cases suspected to be caused by Fire Fist (unconfirmed)_   

  

  *   
_current location unknown_   

  



“Done reading yet?” Smoker grumbled.

Ace nodded and returned the summaries to his partner.  “Thanks for the rundown,” he said, trying to be civil after their first pleasant meeting that wasn’t.

“Tashigi made it,” Smoker snorted.  He clipped the papers together and placed them in a file.  “She thought that you probably didn’t want to read through ten years of investigative crap on your second day in this branch.”

“I’ll have to thank her later,” Ace declared, smiling slightly in a grateful manner for good measure.

“You _will_ have to read every bloody piece of info later, but we have something else to do today.”  Smoker stood up abruptly and put on his heavy leather jacket while heading towards the door.

“Like what?” Ace asked, getting off his chair and following Smoker.

“We have a lead,” Smoker answered gruffly before exiting their shared office.

Ace left as well and closed the door behind them. “On Fire Fist?”

“No, we have a lead on my grandmother,” Smoker said sarcastically.  He locked the door violently and stormed down the hallway, resolutely ignoring Ace who continued to walk after him.  “Yes, fucking Fire Fist.  Hopefully we can finally catch that bastard.  If we’re lucky we’ll find him soon, so hurry up!” Smoker barked.

“I’m _right_ behind you,” Ace said with a smirk, the irony of Smoker’s statement not lost on him.

\--

It felt a little surreal to have his ‘story’ told so _factually_.

There were too many people that Ace had killed and hurt.  Ten were dead because of him, but thousands more were harmed.  Yet to the government, the people were only numbers: just lifeless ink on a white page.

Ace never visited their graves.  They were always buried someplace he could never access, even if Whitebeard allowed him to go.  But Ace would not have visited any graves regardless of whether or not he had permission.  The act in itself was too painful.

They had trusted him.  And in return, he worked with them, played with them, talked with them, ate with them, and in a couple of cases, slept with them too.  And then he killed them.

 _Well, they deserved it_ , Ace told himself, trying to justify his actions.  Komir led many intelligence operations that uncovered information later used in the war.  Shiryuu tortured and killed hundreds of the prisoners he was in charge of.  Jerry, Wanze, and Spandine were lying, scheming bastards, like the rest of the Cipher Pol.  And Rodrigez was an embezzling, two-faced con.  Oh, and he cheated on his wife. Actively.  Ace knew about _that_ firsthand.

 _… But what about the kids?_ a quiet voice in a small corner of his mind whispered.

And Ace had no answer to that

\--

“Kinda dingy, don’t you think?” Ace commented, eyeing the greenish mould growing happily on a particularly damp patch of the cracked wall they were leaning against.

Smoker snorted.  “I don’t care if our informant lives in a fucking shithole as long as his information isn’t in a similar state,” he grumbled, lighting two cigars and placing them between his teeth.

Ace was about to ask his partner about his unusual habit when he spotted the person they had been waiting for.  “He’s here,” Ace said, and Smoker nodded.

The man was a sorry sight.  Absolutely everything was in a state of disarray, from the unkempt hair and unshaven face, to the shabby clothes and grimy boots.  A strong scent of alcohol trailed after the man, and out of courtesy, Ace resisted the urge to wrinkle his nose.  But after two and a half hours of waiting with a man that hated his company, Ace had plenty of time to examine the decrepit building they stood in – its inhabitant’s appearance did not surprise him. In fact, it had been cynically predicted.

“You the White Hunter?” the man asked nervously, eyes skittishly darting back and forth between Smoker and possible escape routes.  Ace felt the sudden desire to laugh at the man’s poorly disguised anxiety, but he quashed that impulse out of courtesy as well.  When Smoker nodded, the man asked, “And who’s that?” before pointing shakily at Ace.

“I’m his partner,” Ace answered reassuringly.  They didn’t need the guy to scarper, after all, so being nice would probably prove productive.

“You said you heard about Fire Fist’s current location,” Smoker said roughly, cutting straight to the chase.  “Tell us what you know.”

 _… So much for being nice_ , Ace thought wryly.

Although he seemed a bit taken aback by Smoker’s directness, the man spoke anyways.  “Well… I was out… down in the part of town you two respectable fellows probably wouldn’t go to… and I accidentally overheard these men talking…” A sort of wariness crept into the man’s eyes, but he continued.  “I only heard little bits of their conversation because I wasn’t that near to them, but I’m sure of what I heard…”

“You think they were associated with Whitebeard?” Smoker asked.

The man nodded hesitantly.  “I’m pretty sure they were,” he answered.  “It’s not uncommon for suspicious people to turn up in those areas,” he added.

Smoker grunted in acknowledgement.  “So what did you hear?” he questioned.

Then the caution in the man’s eyes grew, and he shifted in obvious discomfort.  “I… I’m not sure if I should tell you anymore,” he muttered nervously.

“Then why the hell am I here?” Smoker said, his tone changing slightly.  “To appreciate the fucking scenery?”

“I-I’m not trying to back out of my promise,” the man stammered, hastily back-pedalling.

“Yeah?” And then Smoker _Glared_ with a capital ‘g’, and Ace pitied the poor man who was on the receiving end of it.  “Then what the fuck are you doing?”

“I-It’s just that… well… they say that Whitebeard has people everywhere,” the man exclaimed, his shaking voice tinged with apprehensive fear.  Smoker’s glare intensified, and the man visibly trembled.  But Ace felt like he could see where the conversation was heading, and he decided to step in before things got ugly.

“You got a family, sir?” Ace asked suddenly, causing both Smoker and his victim to look up.  When the man’s face suddenly relaxed, and when he nodded jerkily, Ace knew that he had hit the mark dead on.  “Don’t worry,” Ace said comfortingly.  “Your family won’t be in any danger.  What you tell us will stay with us and the ones we work with.  Whitebeard and his people would never know.”  _That_ was a total, barefaced lie, but he needed to get the man to talk.  “We won’t even ask for your name,” Ace added, trying to coax the uncertain man into trusting them.

Ten years of practice paid off, because the man said, “I might know the approximate whereabouts of Fire Fist.  I don’t have anything exact, but this might help you out.”

“Tell us, then,” Smoker muttered, patience clearly worn thin.

“The men talked about lots of things,” the man said carefully, “but I only heard one part clearly.”  He paused nervously.  “One of them said something about Fire Fist being, er, a ‘lucky bastard’ that got to attack the enemy from within.  I’m assuming that this means Fire Fist has somehow managed to get into the government somehow…”

“Hnn, it’s happened before,” Smoker muttered, voice barely audible; the man didn’t hear it, but Ace did.  “It would explain Fire Fist’s recent inactivity.”

“Um… can I ask you something…?” the man whispered timidly.  Smoker nodded, and the man said, “Why do you people never assume he’s dead?”

Smoker scowled darkly.  “Bastards like Fire Fist don’t just _die_ ,” he said humourlessly.  “They’re always alive until you find their fucking bodies; it’s easy to locate them _then_.  Unfortunately, corpses don’t talk, so we need Fire Fist alive. Whitebeard criminals are hard to find when living, especially if they’re also Children of the Devil. Fucking cockroaches.”

Seeing some vestigial doubt on their informant’s face, Ace cheerfully added, “I’d say my partner always has a ‘paranoid, suspicious bastard’ mentality, but what he just said is true.”  A rather pissed off glare was aimed his way, but Ace was immune to it.

“We’re leaving,” Smoker told the man. “You should get home.”  Then he left, leaving Ace and the man behind in the dilapidated building.

“But… I live here,” the man said, confused.

“Go back to that family of yours,” Ace hinted.  Once comprehension dawned on the man, Ace felt that it was safe to ask, “If you were so worried about them, why did you contact my partner in the first place?”

“I thought it was the right thing to do,” the man answered simply.

 _So there are still good people left in this shitty world_ , Ace thought absently.  He thanked the man and then left the building quickly.  He caught up with Smoker a few minutes later.  “You walk damn fast,” he said to the older man. “And I think he was telling the truth to us.”

“Or what he thinks is the truth,” Smoker corrected.  He unlocked the car and climbed in, strapping on his seatbelt and then starting the vehicle once Ace got in as well.  The black car drove quietly away and back towards their workplace, headlights knifing through the night sky.

“Well, we can just ask other people once we get back,” Ace said indifferently, tossing his cellphone into Smoker’s lap.

“You recorded him,” Smoker said, eyes not leaving the road.  “Fucking two-faced bastard.”  One hand left the steering wheel to drop the cellphone into its owner’s outstretched palm.

Ace shrugged, slipping his phone back into his coat pocket.  “Whatever gets the job done.”

“Fascinating,” Smoker said dryly.  “Ever thought of transferring to CP9?”

“Hey,” Ace said calmly, hiding the defensiveness that crept up within him. “It’s just my work ethic – always has been, and always will be.”

“Interesting work ethic,” Smoker commented while making a left turn.  “Or rather just work, since there doesn’t seem to be any ethics involved.”

“Haha, very funny,” Ace muttered sarcastically, even though a weary part of him agreed with the cynical driver.

\--

 _“Ace, Ace, look what we got for you!”_

 _“… Is… is that for me…?”_

 _“Yeah! We found it! Isn’t it cool?”_

 _“We put it together for you!”_

 _“Thanks guys…! It’s… it’s…”_

 _“Haha, look! He’s smiling! Success!”_

 _“Happy birthday, Ace!”_

 _“No, silly, it’s not his birthday yet!”_

 _“It’s_ almost _his birthday – c’mon, it’s just in a few minutes!”_

 _“Happy birthday, Ace!”_

 _“What did I just say?!”_

 _“Yeesh, it’s nearly midnight, so why can’t I just say it now?”_

 _“It’s not his birthday yet!”_

 _“But we already gave him his present!”_

 _“Well, that’s okay.  You_ do _like it, right Ace?  It’s pretty big on you…”_

 _“No, it’s perfect!  It’s the best hat in the world.”_

 _“See? Told you he’d like it!”_

 _“Oh, hey… the adults are counting down!”_

 _“For Ace’s birthday?”_

 _“Don’t be an idiot!  It’s for New Year!”_

 _“Plus it’s special this time around. Er, mill… mill…”_

 _“Millennium.”_

 _“Right! That was it!”_

 _“Well who cares about that? We’ll count for Ace instead!”_

 _“Okay, we’ll start when they get to ten!”_

 _“So now?”_

 _“No, not quite… okay wait… now!”_

 _“Ten…”_

 _“Nine…”_

 _“Eight…”_

 _“Seven…”_

 _“Six…”_

 _“Five…”_

 _“Four…”_

 _“Three…”_

 _“Two…”_

 _“One!”_

 _“_ Happy bir _\--!”_

\--

Whatever gets the job done.

‘Whatever’ was a rather inclusive word.  It could mean everything or nothing at all, as long as it got the job done.

(One more. Just _one_ more…)

He’d do anything for Luffy.  So ‘whatever gets the job done’ was a bit of a lie (like everything else in his fucked up life?)…  ‘Whatever will protect Luffy’ was a more accurate description of his work ethic, minus the ethic.  Because Luffy was the only person Ace had left.  Luffy was his everything.  Luffy was worth _more_ than everything.  Luffy’s life superseded _any_ and _all_ ‘whatever’s.

 _But what about the kids?_ the guilty whisper repeated.  And Ace killed the voice too. ‘Whatever’s were much easier to deal with when one had a dead conscience.

After all, corpses didn’t talk.

\--

 _Where the hell are they?_ Ace thought, frustrated.

Ace didn't _lose_ things.  He didn't.  Ever.  But he couldn't find something extremely important, and he sincerely hoped that the saying 'a first time for everything' didn't apply in this particular case.  He also hoped the childish 'finders keepers' rule was not upheld in the government.

Because Ace really need to find them _fast_ , or else he was fucked.

Everywhere.  Ace had looked _everywhere_ he could think of.  He had upended his briefcase thrice.  He had thoroughly rummaged through the pockets on every article of clothing he wore.  He had scoured the _floor_.  He had cleaned his desk and searched on _and_ inside of it.  _Hell_ , he had even searched _Smoker’s_ desk in case he left the small bottle in his partner’s territory due to some freak brain aneurysm that made him go near the crazy man’s things.  And _still_ nothing.

 _Where were his fucking pills?!_

While entertaining the thought of emptying his bag for the _fourth_ fucking time, the door swung open and Smoker walked in silently.  “Hey,” Ace greeted with even less enthusiasm than usual which he didn’t think was possible until just then.

Predictably, Smoker grumbled, “Why did you touch my desk?”

Not particularly feeling like answering Smoker, Ace chose to comment on the fact that the other man even _noticed_ in the first place.  “What do you have, motion sensors?” he muttered.

“Eyes,” Smoker said sarcastically.

“I barely touched anything!” Ace exclaimed.

“But you still touched something,” Smoker said, frowning.  “You moved my file.”

Ace stared at Smoker incredulously.  “You _definitely_ have motion detectors on your desk, or at _least_ a hidden camera somewhere.”

“ _Eyes_ ,” Smoker corrected, levelling another glare on Ace, much like he had been doing since they first met.  “And I suggest you start using them if you still can’t tell which damn desk isn’t yours.”

“I was _looking_ for something,” Ace said peevishly.

“Looking for what – your brain?” Smoker snorted, sitting down in front of his desk and starting to work.  “I’m sure you won’t find it by now, since you lost it so long ago.”

“Fuck you,” Ace said, irritated.  _I’ll just check my briefcase again_ , he thought, rummaging determinedly inside the damn thing.

“No thanks,” Smoker said, opening the folder Ace had allegedly moved.

“You are an _infuriating_ bastard to work with,” Ace grumbled.

“So I’ve been told,” Smoker grunted absently, mind clearly elsewhere while reading.

Ace decided _not_ to riposte and continued searching.  After a few minutes of futility, Ace sighed in resignation and grudgingly asked Smoker, “Have you seen my medication with those _amazing_ eyes of yours?”

“Small translucent pill bottle made of blue plastic? White screw-on cap?  Clear gel capsules?” Smoker listed, still engrossed in his paperwork.

“… Yes,” Ace said blankly.

“You should put your name on the stupid bottle if it’s that important, moron,” Smoker commented.

“Well, I’ve never lost it before today,” Ace muttered.  “I always keep it with me.”

“It fell out of your coat pocket this morning,” Smoker explained.

“Oh.  Then can I have it back now?” Ace asked, relieved.

“No,” Smoker declared.

Ace narrowed his eyes in displeasure.  “Excuse me?” he deadpanned. “And why not?”

Smoker looked up and scowled at Ace.  “The bottle is unlabelled,” he stated.  “I’m not returning it until I know what those pills are, and why you have them.”

“Do you think they’re fucking drugs or something?” Ace snapped. “I need those _back_ , bastard.”

“What are they for?” Smoker asked.

“Does it matter?” Ace spat.  “What is this, a fucking interrogation?”

“ _I’m_ the one asking the questions, brat,” Smoker growled.

“ _Give them back_ , you fucking asshole!” Ace said furiously.  He was tempted to reclaim the small blue bottle by force, but an unwelcome exhaustion suddenly crept over him, making him swear viciously.  Ace hissed, “Thanks a lot, _partner_ …” before he slipped into a familiar unconsciousness that he hadn’t felt in a long while…

\--

 _A harsh slap knocked his head sharply to the left.  A low moan forced its way through Ace’s dry lips._

 _“Still not awake?” an amused voice commented._

 _“Just give him another one,” someone else jeered, his suggestion met with raucous approval._

 _The second blow made Ace accidentally bite the inside of his cheek.  The flood of warm liquid choked him and he coughed feebly._

 _“Hey, the little shit is coming ‘round,” yet another drawled._

 _“Not quite,” said the one Ace identified as the man who had hit him.  “But he_ will _be after this.”  And unkind hands dragged Ace across the cold, smooth floor.  Ace kicked weakly but his efforts were in vain.  He kept coughing up the blood that continued to fill his mouth._

 _“In you go,” declared the voice, and that was all the warning Ace had before –_

 _Water._

 _Everywhere it was everywhere and it was going into his nose and it was going into his mouth and he couldn’t_ breathe _and he couldn’t_ move _and it dragged him down and down and downanddownuntil –_

\--

Ace’s eyes snapped open.  His body shot back into full alert and his head jerked upright from its previously lax position.

He was in his chair.

In the office.

Safe.

Smoker was working intently on his paperwork again, but Ace knew the bastard was feigning ignorance.  _He knows damn well I’m awake right now_ , Ace mused, although his thoughts were still a bit scattered.  His suspicions were confirmed when Smoker spoke only after Ace’s lungs started functioning properly again.

“What the fuck just happened?” Smoker asked without turning to face Ace.  It sounded like he was talking about the weather.

Ace gritted his teeth and ran a trembling hand through his tangled hair.  “I fell asleep,” he muttered.

“I noticed,” Smoker said dryly, eyes still focused on the papers in front of him.  “Why did you spontaneously fall asleep?  Most normal people don’t just keel over while they’re in the middle of a fucking conversation.”

“You already know why,” Ace accused.

“I only have a hypothesis,” Smoker stated.

“As if you haven’t figured out I’m fucking narcoleptic by now,” Ace said, crossing his arms.

“I just needed verbal confirmation,” Smoker said.  He tossed Ace’s bottle of pills back to its owner.  “I’m assuming the medication is for the narcolepsy.”

“No _shit_ , Sherlock,” Ace growled.  “That’s why I wanted it back so fucking badly, damn it!”

“Hnn.”  Smoker finally looked up and stared evenly at Ace.  “Funny,” he began casually, no traces of humour in his voice or face.  “I don’t remember reading anything about narcolepsy in your file.”

‘The jig was up’, as Marco might’ve put it.  “That's because it wasn’t in my file,” Ace said calmly.

“So you lied.” It wasn’t a declaration.  It was an accusation.  “Why did you omit something this fucking important?” Smoker demanded.

Ace inhaled deeply.  “Oh, I don’t know,” he said sarcastically.  “Maybe it has to do with the fucking fact that I wouldn’t have been hired if I wrote that down?” He straightened in his chair before continuing dryly, “Hi, I’m Portgas D. Ace.  I might fall asleep in the middle of my job if I forget to take my pills.  Please hire me instead of that guy over there without a sleeping disorder.”

“This happen often?” Smoker asked gruffly.

“No,” Ace answered, scowling deeply.  No, it _didn’t_ , which was why it pissed him off so much that it had happened in front of _Smoker_ of all damn people.  “I haven’t done that for over five years ever since I started taking my medication.”

“Never?” Smoker didn’t even _try_ to hide the blatant scepticism laced within that single word.

“Never,” Ace repeated, glaring.  “Well, not outside of home,” he corrected. Not like he _had_ a home.

Smoker stared at Ace contemplatively.  “Why’d you want this job?’ he said, a tiny, barely-even-there sliver of curiosity laced in the question. “If you were going to lie on a résumé, don’t do it with the damn government.”

Ace blinked, mildly taken aback.  “Because my father wanted me to have this job,” he replied carefully. Not like he _had_ a father either. Whitebeard didn’t fucking count, and his own, real ‘father’ didn’t as well.

“No, that’s why you took the job,” Smoker grumbled.  “Why did you _want_ it?”

“I…” Ace paused. Why? Well, there was only ever one reason for everything he did.  “I did it to protect my brother,” he said without thinking.  And immediately afterward he regretted his answer; it had been _completely honest_.  He really didn’t want any _more_ people to know how much Luffy meant to him.  Whitebeard and his cronies (ha, but wasn’t he one of those too?) alone were already fucking enough.

It seemed Smoker could tell that what Ace said was the truth, for he said nothing in response and resumed working.  After a minute or so, Ace slumped and sighed, “I really fucked up, didn’t I?”

“How?” Smoker said blandly, forehead creasing slightly in concentration as he worked.

Ace’s head snapped up in surprise _and_ confusion.  “What?” he said blankly.

“I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary,” Smoker remarked.

"… You…”  Ace was momentarily struck speechless.  He settled with a disbelieving laugh.  “You really are something,” he managed to say after a few more minutes.  “So you’re actually nice?” Ace asked wryly.

“Hell no,” Smoker growled.  “If you get fired I have to do _more_ fucking paperwork.  The last idiot left me a shitload.”

“You sure it’s not because you’re nice?” Ace said dryly.

“Shut the fuck up and _work_ already,” Smoker snapped angrily.  “You’ve already wasted twenty minutes damn _drooling_ in your chair.”

 _Nope, he’s still an asshole_ , Ace thought.

Good thing, too.  Smoker was easier to handle that way.


	3. III

 

 **III**

 

unspecified,

 _Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me._

 

\--

 

“That’s an interesting tattoo, Ace,” Tashigi commented.

Ace blinked and followed her interested gaze to his left arm.  Ah. _That_ tattoo.  “I’m not sure you can call it ‘interesting’, per se,” he said dryly.

“It’s idiotic,” Smoker grunted derisively, just like Ace expected him to.  “Probably accidental, too.”

“No, it’s… um, creative,” Tashigi supplied, obviously trying to save Ace face.

“Actually, Smoker’s right in this case,” Ace admitted.  “The S was sort of added there against my will.  Never wanted it there in the first place.”

“Oh! Then why did you cross it out instead of doing something else with it?” Tashigi asked hesitantly.

“Well, I didn’t really want to tattoo ‘ass’ on my arm,” Ace answered cheekily.  He chuckled at the embarrassed flush that crept onto Tashigi’s face.  Really, it was far too easy.

“Just tell her what happened so we can move on,” Smoker grumbled, rolling his eyes.

“You want to know?” Ace asked Tashigi. After she nodded, he said, “I’ve had this for a while.  I was out drinking with some friends a couple of years ago, and we all decided to get tattoos.  Was a bad idea.  Apparently, none of us can spell correctly when inebriated,” Ace concluded, grinning impishly.

Smoker snorted.  “You really _are_ stupid,” he stated.

“S-sir!” Tashigi admonished.

“No, it’s alright,” Ace said nonchalantly.  “My friends used to call me a moron all the time.”

“Pormoron – sounds catchy,” Smoker muttered, inhaling an acrid cloud of smoke from his cigars.

“Don’t get too cocky,” Ace said, raising a thin eyebrow.  “You’re not the first one to think of that nickname, y’know.”

“Really?” Tashigi exclaimed, shock apparent on her face; she was evidently surprised that people actually had the nerve to insult her newest friend when he was younger.

“Really,” Ace confirmed, lying through his teeth.

\--

“Choose your tats carefully,” someone long forgotten had once advised Ace.  “You’ll be stuck with them for as long as you live.”

Ace had to acknowledge the faint wisdom in those words.  A crappy tattoo was a permanent reminder of a stupid decision, or just bad taste.  If Ace could’ve chosen, he definitely wouldn’t have inked a misspelled version of his name on his arm.

Too bad he couldn’t pick. For _either_ tattoos.

A great deal of resentment was held towards the large symbol covering his back.  All of Whitebeard’s men carried his likeness on their bodies in order to distinguish whether or not one was a member of the ‘family’.  But it was fucking _stupid_ emblazoning what was essentially a target on oneself, so the ink used wasn’t visible in normal light.

It was a teasing mercy.  Ace was thankful that it was invisible _and_ on his back, because then he didn’t have to see Whitebeard’s fucking face every time he stripped. Yet ‘out of sight, out of mind’ was a rule that did not apply.  It was _always there_ , unseen but ever present, branding him like some damn livestock.  The message was clear: your ass is Whitebeard’s, and never forget it.  Ace despised the invisible mark and all the festering memories and emotions associated with it.

However, Ace held an equal amount of hatred for the letters inked onto his arm.  From _that_ tattoo, he had no reprieve; its scornful colour was constantly visible for all to see.  It would stay there, forever.  Ace would never be able to forget its existence. Consequently, he would always remember the person responsible for making him tattoo the three letters of his name onto his arm as an act of sheer desperation.

The X was only a feeble attempt of erasing a foul memory, and the rest of the S would continue to mock him.

\--

“Had fun?” Smoker said bitingly, frowning deeply while driving.

“Eh, I’d rank it ‘medium fun’ this time,” Ace corrected, raking a hand through dishevelled hair.

“When you said ‘fuck this’ and stormed out of the car two hours ago, I didn’t think you meant ‘fuck another one of our informants’, Portgas,” Smoker muttered darkly, clearly displeased.  He scowled when Ace’s cellphone was tossed carelessly into his lap.  “Do you fucking record _everything_?” he asked roughly.

“Only _useful_ things,” Ace said, shrugging indifferently.  He attempted to straighten out his clothes, but soon gave up when it was evidently a lost cause.

“Do I even _want_ to listen to this?” Smoker snarled, disgusted and eyeing the phone as if it would explode without warning.

“Since you don’t seem to be getting laid lately, it might make nice jerking off material,” Ace suggested wryly.

“Along with the other four recordings you’ve already given me?” Smoker said acidly, every mocking syllable dripping with undisguised contempt.  “Just because I don’t fuck with everyone and everything I see doesn’t mean I don’t have a sex life.  I’m not a slut.”  ‘Unlike you’ – it wasn’t said, but it was strongly implied.

“’Whatever gets the job done’, remember?” Ace reminded.

“Fucking whore,” Smoker spat in distaste.  “Get information some other way.  Don’t have _sex_ with people in order to get it.”

“This coming from the man who has no qualms about beating the crap out of someone for said information?” Ace retorted.  When the other man didn’t respond, Ace added, “You know the saying… ‘All’s fair in love and war’.”

“There’s no…!” Smoker began harshly, before cutting himself off abruptly as if he didn’t want Ace to hear him continue.  But the rest of the sentence was entirely unnecessary, and the two of them said nothing more to each other in the car.

After all, Ace was perfectly aware that there was no love in what he did.

\--

Apparently, he was good-looking.

Ace couldn’t see how – he never did, and probably never would.  Yet he seemed to attract ‘followers’ wherever he went.  It was irritating, amusing, and baffling all at once.

Being ‘sexy’ was useful. Ace learned that fact through personal experience, Whitebeard, and someone he never wanted to see again.  Being blessed with little else, Ace used this precious resource whenever the need arose.  Besides, he preferred being fucked over having the shit beaten out of him.

But he just didn’t understand.  Ace couldn’t see how his body was considered attractive in _any_ sense, and he especially could not fathom why it was appreciated by people of _both_ genders.  Ace didn't know how, because he just didn’t view things the same way.

Every time Ace saw his reflection, he saw the most hideous human being in the whole world.

\--

 _“Hey… Ace…?”_

 _“Yeah…?”_

 _“Wouldn’t it be nice… if… someday… we could leave?”_

 _“… Leave, as in escape?”_

 _“Mm.”_

 _“… Yeah, that’d be great.  It’s probably never going to happen…”_

 _“I know, but what if it did?”_

 _“We’d be free, Lu.”_

 _“Freedom sounds awesome…”_

 _A moment of silence._

 _“Ace…? Will… will people like us?”_

 _“Sure. Why not?”_

 _“But… I’m not normal anymore.”_

 _“So? I still like you.”_

 _“I guess, heehee.”_

 _“And so does Shanks!”_

 _“Who?”_

 _“You know, Shanks… the nice man with the red hair…”_

 _“Oh, him! Yeah, he’s awesome!”_

 _“See? You’ll definitely find people that will love you as much as we do.”_

 _“You will find friends too, right?”_

 _“I hope so.”_

 _“I bet you’ll have lots of them, Ace!”_

 _“Eh, maybe…”_

 _“Then let’s make a promise! We’ll get out of here someday and meet people!”_

 _“And we’ll live freer than everyone.”_

 _“Yeah, that too! We’ll live freely with the friends we make once we leave! No matter what! Okay?”_

 _“Okay.”_

 _And the deal was sealed._

\--

Sometimes, Ace wondered what it’d be like to see Luffy again.  Would they smile? Cry? Do both? Or would they no longer recognize each other?

Ace passed time by speculating about his younger brother’s circumstances.  _He’d be shorter than me by just a little_ , Ace thought.  _He’d still have that scar, and his hair is probably as messy as it used to be.  And he’d have wonderful friends, and he’d smile freely, and he’d be_ happy _…_

A twinge of envy would occasionally surface in Ace, but it was always buried quickly underneath prickling shame.  After all, he didn’t deserve the same freedom.  He was a murderer, a twisted person, a ‘fucking two-faced bastard’ (and since when did Smoker infiltrate his mind?), and a _liar_.

Yet Ace knew that _if_ – and just the tantalizing _possibility_ of an ‘if’ made his heart wrench with hope – he and Luffy ever saw each other again, Ace would not be able to lie to his brother.  Because _Luffy_ was _honesty_ and _joy_ in corporeal form, and faced with _that_ , Ace would have to speak the truth.

But… he didn’t want Luffy to know the truth.

Because deep inside, Ace was afraid that once Luffy found out he had lied, cheated, hurt, betrayed, and _killed_ for the desperate hope of fulfilling a childhood dream made over ten years ago, Luffy would be disappointed and abandon him.

Then Ace would lose the only person he loved in the whole world.

 _Ace!_ an imaginary Luffy within his mind exclaimed, laughing in a carefree way Ace would probably never replicate.  _What have you done in the past ten years?_

And Ace knew that he would have no choice but to reveal the ugly answer.

\--

“A dinner party?” Ace said dryly.  “Really?”

“Yes, a damn _dinner party_ ,” Smoker affirmed scornfully.  “Apparently there will be someone attending who once knew Fire Fist.”

“You sure?” Ace asked.  “Might just be a baseless rumour.”

Smoker stared flatly at Ace.  “No, I just follow _every_ fucking lead without substantiating it first,” he said sarcastically.  “Oddly enough, there’s been a lot of evidence showing that this ‘baseless rumour’ –” a glare was aimed at Ace who ignored it “-- might be valid.”

“So we have to go to a fucking dinner party,” Ace concluded, resisting the strange urge to laugh at Smoker’s grimace.  “Together,” he added, and this time Ace was unable to suppress a snicker.

“I really hate this job sometimes,” Smoker muttered darkly.

“Oh no, the horror – _dinner parties_ ,” Ace exclaimed mockingly.  He gasped dramatically before saying, “There will be _people_ there!”

“Shut the fuck up, Portgas,” Smoker growled.

“Aw, who’s a Mr. Grumpy,” Ace said sweetly.  “With a face like that, it’s no wonder you don’t like social gatherings. Everyone would run away from you.”

Smoker threw a floridly decorated invitation at Ace’s forehead, and then stormed angrily out of their shared office.

Slightly sniggering at his partner’s severe ‘allergy’ to human interaction, Ace stared contemplatively at the object that had bounced off his head.  His smile slowly faded.  “Someone who once knew Fire Fist, eh…?” he murmured, rubbing the embossed envelope with a thumb.

Everyone who ‘knew Fire Fist’ was dead. He killed them all.

Except...

Ace forcefully halted his train of thought and violently shoved the invitation deep into his briefcase.

And the S on his arm taunted him from beneath his sleeve…

\--

“You knew about it?” Ace asked, carefully smothering any apprehension he felt so that his voice wouldn’t betray him.

“I always know everything,” Marco said through Ace’s cellphone.

“Yeah. I hate that,” Ace grumbled.  Ignoring the dry chuckle next to his ear, Ace said, “So should I expect a _lovely surprise_ at that dinner party?”

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?” Marco ‘answered’.

Ace crushed the usual desire to destroy his phone.  “What did you call me for?”

“Just passing on orders, like always,” Marco said, sounding bored.  There was a rustling noise (was Marco reading something?) and a cough.  “Only three words this time.”

“Am I supposed to figure out what I’m supposed to do?” Ace snorted.

“Maybe,” Marco said plainly.

“Well, what the hell are the words?” Ace snapped impatiently.

“Do the evolution.”

Then the call ended.

\--

 _He couldn’t see a thing. He couldn’t move._

Am I dead? _he wondered.  That would’ve been nice.  If he was dead, he’d finally be free…_

 _Wait… dead…?_

 _… No, no, no,_ no _…!_

 _A strangled cry almost escaped his mouth but was held back by something scratchy._

 _They were dead.  They were all dead.  They were all dead or as good as dead._

 _And he_ wasn’t _dead, because he could still_ feel _, and he didn’t think ghosts were capable of experiencing pain or cold._

 _But they were_ dead _– he remembered now.  And he squeezed his eyes shut and sensed tears making their way towards the surface of his body… but_ no _he wouldn’t let them out.  He promised not to cry.  He promised them not to cry…_

 _A sickeningly sweet scent wafted toward his tired body.  It made him want to vomit._

 _“Did you really think you could escape?” a soft, feminine voice asked.  It laughed lightly – a delicate,_ tinkling _sound – but it sounded anything but happy.  “What a silly idea.  Why on earth would you ever want to leave?”_

Run, run, run…! _Something inside him wailed fearfully._

 _But he couldn’t move._

 _“_ Still _trying to escape?” the woman said quietly.  “I guess you haven’t learned your lesson yet, you adorable, stubborn little child.  But you’re such a_ cutie _, so I don’t mind helping you remember.”_

 _Someone kissed him on the forehead.  The floral fragrance grew stronger._

 _He didn’t want her to touch him._

 _“Stop that,” the unseen person chided gently.  “Hold still, okay?”_

Run, run, run…!

 _The same laugh rang through the air, but this time it sounded icy and harsh like sharpened steel. The sound sliced into his heart and he felt afraid…_

 _“It’ll be over real quick, sweetie,” she said coldly.  He imagined a vicious, pointed smile._

Run…!

 _Too late._

\--

He gasped for air, lungs heaving like he was drowning, the impulse to just _run the fuck away_ overwhelmingly strong.  His hands clutched fitfully at his crumpled blanket while his pulse thundered loudly in his ears.

“Get the fuck _out_ of my head,” Ace croaked, voice choked.  He shut his eyes tightly and buried his face into his sweat dampened pillow, refusing to look at his left arm.

Ironically, sleep eluded the narcoleptic man.

\--

Ace knew he looked like shit.  Well, he suspected it.  Sleep deprivation did that to a person.  It didn’t improve his mood any, either.

(In hindsight, Ace did something _so fucking stupid_.  But at the time? He didn’t care less.)

Smoker looked more pissed off than usual.

“What’s the matter?” Ace asked, knowing the question would probably irritate his partner.

“Take a wild guess,” Smoker replied, scowling deeply.  “It starts with a P, ends with an E, and can’t spell for shit.”

“Well, it can’t be me, because that doesn’t start with P,” Ace said sarcastically.  He ignored the stab of _something_ he felt after Smoker’s reference to his visible tattoo.  Failing to get a rise out of the other man, Ace frowned.  “Really, what’s wrong?”

“I finally listened to your damn recording from a week ago,” Smoker stated quietly.

Ace furrowed his eyebrows together.  “Yeah? So, what’s the deal?”

“I hated it,” Smoker said, something barely restrained within his voice.

It took Ace a while to figure out it was anger.

Smoker was _always_ irritated; it was the way he was.  Ace assumed he was just constantly angry and left it at that.

He was wrong.

 _This_ was what Smoker was like when _truly_ angry. Ace… felt unsettled from being the target of Smoker’s silent, seething stare.  And just the fact that he was unnerved by it in the first place increased Ace’s level of discomfort.

“Was there a problem…?” Ace asked cautiously.  It was a bad thing to say.

“ _Yes_ , you _know fucking well_ what the damn problem is!” Smoker snarled, knuckles turning white from gripping his desk too tightly.

Ace swallowed and unconsciously stepped back.  “Is this about me having sex again?” he demanded, voice edged.

“It’s about you _using_ people like fucking objects!” Smoker growled, glaring furiously at Ace. It worked for the first time.

“I’m not forcing them into anything!” Ace yelled.

“You’re a lying, traitorous _bastard_!” Smoker accused, each biting word spoken venomously.

“Well, you’re a bastard too,” Ace retorted.  “So what’s the fucking difference?”

“I’m an _honest_ bastard,” Smoker said angrily, “and I don’t go around doing ‘whatever gets the job done’ by treating people like worthless _shit_ and fucking _manipulating_ them!”

“You got your damn results – what more do you want?” Ace snapped.

Then Smoker said sardonically, “So what does your brother think about all of this?”

Ace froze.

 _He mentioned Luffy. He fucking_ dared _to mention Luffy…!_

A surge of hot fury rose within Ace.  He remembered G2.  He remembered Impel Down.  He remembered Cipher Pol.  He remembered every other piece of fucking corruption and _utter wrongness_ seeped into the government’s cracked self-righteous structure.  Smoker was part of it.

And he _dared_ talk to _him_ about _fucking using people?!_

“You fucking hypocrite,” Ace hissed, shaking from barely suppressed rage.  “You _fucking hypocrite_.  At least I _have_ a reason.  You’re just here to uphold ‘justice’.  _What_ ‘justice’?!”  He gestured violently at the folders and random, useless _crap_ on their desks.  “You call me a lying, two-faced bastard when nearly everyone in this fucking building does the same damn thing!  You call this ‘justice’?  Well, _fuck_ the government’s ‘justice’ and _fuck your ‘justice’ too_ because it’s worth _shit!_ ”

Smoker rose in one smooth, enraged motion and slammed a clenched fist into Ace’s jaw.

Ace staggered backwards more out of indignant anger than pain or surprise.

“Get _out_!” Smoker bellowed, _livid_ as hell.  “ _Get the fuck out!_ ”

“With pleasure,” Ace spat, walking stiffly.  He slammed the door, left the building, took the bus, and arrived back at his apartment without once looking back.

\--

Do the evolution.

Ace angrily stared at his cellphone.  _It’s all your fault_ , he mentally accused it.  _It’s all you and Marco and Smoker and I…!_

All he could find was a song, as if that would help him.

 _I’m ahead, I’m a man  
_ _I’m the first mammal to wear pants, yeah  
_ _I’m at peace with my lust  
_ _I can kill ‘cause in God I trust, yeah  
_ _It’s evolution, baby._

 _I’m at peace, I’m the man  
_ _Buying stocks on the day of the crash, yeah  
_ _On the loose, I’m a truck  
_ _On a rolling hill I’ll flatten ‘em out, yeah  
_ _It’s herd behaviour, uh huh  
_ _It’s evolution, baby._

“You just bragging to me, old bastard?” Ace muttered, closing his eyes in frustration.

 _Admire me, admire my home  
_ _Admire my son, he’s my clone  
_ _Yeah yeah, yeah yeah  
_ _This land is mine, this land is free  
_ _I’ll do what I want but irresponsibly  
_ _It’s evolution, baby._

 _I’m a thief, I’m a liar  
_ _There’s my church, I sing in the choir  
_ _(Hallelujah, hallelujah)_

 _Admire me, admire my home  
_ _Admire my son, admire my clones  
_ _‘Cause we know, appetite for a nightly feast  
_ _Those ignorant Indians got nothin’ on me  
_ _Nothin’, why?  
_ _Because – it’s evolution, baby!_

 _I am ahead, I am advanced  
_ _I am the first mammal to make plans, yeah  
_ _I crawled the earth, but now I’m higher  
_ _2010, watch it go to fire!  
_ _It’s evolution, baby!_

Ace blinked. ‘Fire’? “What are you trying to get me to do?” he asked nobody in particular.

 _Do the evolution!_

 _Come on, come on, come on…_

\--

If the S stood for Sleep, and it was crossed out, did that mean he wouldn’t ever sleep?

Or if it stood for Sanity, did it mean he’d never be sane?

Or was it Security?

Or…

He remembered a sickeningly sweet scent like flowers…

“No,” Ace said firmly to the dark.  “No.”

After all these years, _she_ was still there in his mind, laughing…

\--

“Well, this is unusual,” Marco noted.  “ _You’ve_ never called _me_ before.”

“Yeah, and who gives a damn about that,” Ace muttered.  “I needed to ask you if I could do something on the side.”

“It rather depends on what kind of ‘something on the side’ you’re planning to do, eh?” Marco stated, chuckling quietly.

“I'm just going to do my ‘job’ by researching about Fire Fist,” Ace explained, “but along the way I’m going to find some unsettling cases of government corruption.” _Which I already know firsthand about_ , Ace added in his mind.

“Does this have something to do with your little ‘argument’ with that volatile partner of yours?” Marco asked, clearly amused.

 _Yes._

“No, I just want to ‘do a good job’ and look like I’m competent so he’ll forgive me,” Ace lied easily.  “Besides, it’d cause some interesting controversy and infighting within the government branches.”

“Just do whatever your ‘job’ entails,” Marco said, sounding as bored as he usually was.

“Aye aye, sir,” Ace said dryly.  “Second thing – what am I supposed to do with a song?”

“Nothing at the moment,” Marco answered.

“Lovely,” Ace grumbled. “So it’s going to be a _surprise_.”

Marco laughed.  “Enjoy your dinner party for now.”

Ace hung up before Marco had a chance to piss him off more.

\--

It was a bit of a surprise when Smoker wasn’t there at the office on the day of the dinner party.

Ace didn’t expect any forgiveness from Smoker.  But he didn’t expect to have no chance at all at _trying_ to earn forgiveness from Smoker.   When he saw Tashigi in the cafeteria at lunch, he asked her if she knew Smoker’s whereabouts.

“Oh, he didn’t tell you?” Tashigi exclaimed, surprised.  “Smoker had something urgent to attend to that he forgot about until late yesterday.  I’m sure he didn’t mean to ditch you,” she added quickly in Smoker’s defence.  “I’d go with you in his place, but I need to do something tonight…”

“It’s alright, I’ll just go alone,” Ace said reassuringly.  “But thank you for the offer… that was really kind of you.”

“He said that he would come by later in the evening to pick up his paperwork,” Tashigi said.  “So if you need to tell Smoker anything, just leave him a message on his desk.”

Ace thanked Tashigi, and they chatted idly until they returned to their respective workspaces.

It was strange, but the absence of Smoker made the office seem much emptier.

“Even when you’re gone, you’re a pain in the ass,” Ace muttered, staring thoughtfully at Smoker’s vacant chair.  “Can’t even be here to accept or reject a guy’s apology, bastard.”

There was no way Ace would ever say sorry for what he did – hell no, not when he was _right_.  However, until he had the physical proof to show Smoker that the government’s justice was flawed, Ace would keep his mouth shut and his temper in check.  He’d have to apologize without doing so.

 _But how…?_

A familiar vibration indicating the time (1:00pm already?) made Ace blink, an idea forming.  He took his cellphone out from his pocket and turned it off.  After a moment of deliberation, he placed it carefully in the middle of Smoker’s desk.

“There. I’m not recording anything or anyone today,” Ace promised quietly.  “I’ll do things your way from now on.  Never liked the sex anyways.”

The funny thing was that even if Smoker _was_ there, the only answer Ace would’ve received anyway would be silence.  It seemed – for a moment – like the short-tempered man wasn’t actually away.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’, then,” Ace declared.

\--

Ace stared at the reflection. 

It stared back.

 _Today it looks pretty tidy_ , Ace thought idly.  And the reflection _was_.  It was dressed very formally.

They continued staring at each other.  “You ready?” they asked simultaneously. Then they broke eye contact; Ace wasn’t sure who looked away first, or who gave up the quickest in their impromptu ‘staring contest’.

Not like it mattered. He still lost twice.

\--

“You came here on your own?” a woman asked him curiously.

“Yes,” Ace answered, smiling politely as if he was enjoying himself ( _ha_ , yeah right).

“Oh, then I suppose I should keep you company,” the woman ‘suggested’.

Ace eyed her.  It was obvious just what sort of ‘company’ she wanted, and he ignored her.  “It’s alright, I’m expecting someone,” he said, being _partly_ honest.  He watched in amusement as the woman left after a half-assed excuse.  On a normal day, Ace would’ve chatted with her, pretending to actually care about what she said, but tonight he didn’t even want to _try_ looking interested.  He felt like a nervous wreck from his lack of sleep.

Despite all his teasing before The Argument occurred, Ace _hated_ events like these just as much as his antisocial partner.  There was always _too many fucking people_ all swarming around and talking inanely, dressing in an attempt to impress others and show off how much excess money they had to squander on stupid things like _hair_.

The onslaught of perfumes and colognes and other scented shit didn’t please Ace either.  Especially the flowery ones.

Even the food wasn’t that great (in quantity) sometimes.  _Who can get full from just hors d’oeuvres?_ Ace wondered, reflecting back on a hungry experience years ago.

Ace participated in a bit of small talk with other guests, maintaining the pretence that he actually gave a damn about the idiotic party.  He kept an eye out for the person he was supposed to meet.  It would’ve been easier to find him or her with Smoker, but… 

He decided not to think about it.

“Excuse me, sir.”  Someone lightly tapped Ace on the shoulder.

“Can I help you?” Ace said courteously after turning around and staring at the man that had addressed him.

“Do you know if Mr. Theron is present tonight?” the man asked.  “I need to speak with him about an important business matter.”

 _Bingo._

“As Mr. Theron’s associate, I apologize for his absence,” Ace replied smoothly.  “However, I can pass on the message to him once I see him.”

The man nodded and they shook hands.  “My name is Hermes,” the man introduced.  “I presume you are Orion, then?”

Ace smiled wryly.  “Unfortunately, Orion is not present either,” he said dryly.  “He had something urgent to attend to and he sends his deepest apologies.”  _Whatever that urgent something was_ , Ace thought sourly.

Hermes took the change in events without question.  “Sorry for the misunderstanding,” he said apologetically.

“No, it’s alright,” Ace said.  “I’m Pyrrhus.  It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“An interesting name,” Hermes commented.

“Yes, well, I didn’t name myself,” Ace lied, shrugging ruefully.  “Too bad for the both of us, eh?”

“It is rather unfortunate,” Hermes agreed.  “Well Pyrrhus, shall we move to another room in order to discuss things further?  Specifically, the matter with Prometheus.”  Once Ace nodded in agreement, Hermes gestured towards a door at the back before walking slowly out of the large room.

 _Time to learn second-hand information about my criminal self_ , Ace thought sarcastically.  He waited a while before following after Hermes, quietly slipping out of the festivities alone.

\--

Never split the party.

\--

“I take it you’re the White Hunter’s new partner?” Hermes said once they were out of earshot.  He closed the door behind them to ensure privacy.

“Yes, unfortunately,” Ace muttered, making the other man laugh.  “Information travels rather quickly in your circles.”

“ _Our_ circles,” Hermes corrected.  “But yes, word _does_ spread fast.  It’s our job after all, and every time the White Hunter shows up, everyone works extra hard at finding information so that they can meet with him.  He’s an interesting character, from what I’ve heard, though I’m sure you’re just as remarkable.  So, what’s your name?”

“Spadille,” Ace answered promptly.  A lame alias, but he had done far worse and had not been caught with any of them.  People were _so easy_ sometimes.

“We’re rather short on time, so I’ll be brief,” Hermes stated.  “As you may know, our sources have revealed that Fire Fist has currently infiltrated the government.  Unfortunately, we cannot trace him any further due to Whitebeard’s immense network.  It is no difficult feat to imagine that there are more of Whitebeard’s followers within the government as well as other important institutions.”

“Do you know any information that will help my partner and I find Fire Fist?” Ace prompted.

“Yes I do, in a sense,” Hermes replied.

“Care to share?” Ace said, raising an eyebrow.  When Hermes shook his head, Ace asked, “And why not?”

“Regrettably, it’s not really possible to share it,” Hermes said, “or rather, share _her_.”

 _A person?_ Ace thought curiously.  “Then _who_ is this mysterious source of yours, Hermes?”

“You can meet her later,” Hermes said mildly.  “Before you do, I can tell you a bit about her.  Would that be acceptable?”

“That’d be _more_ than acceptable,” Ace declared.  He _did_ want to know about this person who claimed to have met him, after all; it was simple prudence on his part.

“She is my ‘boss’ of sorts,” Hermes explained, “and she was once an acquaintance of Fire Fist.  They ended up knowing each other fairly well, and she may be the only person in the whole world not associated with Whitebeard that knows much about Fire Fist.  Evidently, this puts her in a dangerous position, which is why we had to meet in such a roundabout fashion, and also why we needed to use false identities, although the latter is essential in our professions anyways.”

“I’m assuming her alias is also Greek?” Ace said, vaguely amused.

“Your assumption is correct,” Hermes said with a small smile.

“Is it Hera?” Ace guessed on a whim.

Hermes laughed.  “An admirable hypothesis, but no,” he stated.

“Then can you please tell me who she is?” Ace said lightly.

“Oh, you already know her,” Hermes declared, tone suddenly changing from jovial into something that made Ace’s skin crawl uncomfortably.  “You know each other fairly well, and she may be the only person in the whole world that knows much about you.”

Ace narrowed his eyes suspiciously.  “I don’t quite follow, Hermes,” he said, voice hard.

“ _Spadille_ , or _Pyrrhus_ , was it?” Hermes said conversationally.  Ace noticed (too late) that the other man was closer to the door than he was.  “You’re in no position to threaten me.”

“I believe I am,” Ace said stiffly before pointing the gun he had hidden under his suit jacket at Hermes.  He would’ve preferred _not_ to shoot, but he was prepared to incapacitate the other man if he needed to escape quickly.  “And I think you should cut the crap.  I’d rather not be cliché and 'shoot the messenger', as they say.”

“A clever pun,” Hermes chuckled, “and another admirable hypothesis which, unfortunately for you, is also incorrect like the one previous.”

“How so?” Ace said humourlessly, finger touching the trigger.

“Do you really want me to explain, _Spadille_?” Hermes said.  “’Ace of spades’, is it? The 'death card'? Rather egotistic of you, isn’t it?”

“A name doesn’t mean very much,” Ace said quietly.

“In _your_ case, it leaves some telling clues,” Hermes commented.  “’Pyrrhus’ – like I said, an unusual name.  If I remember correctly, Pyrrhus was another name for Neoptolemus, son of Achilles.  And, unless I’m mistaken, it means ‘flame-coloured’ or ‘red’.”

“Is there a point to this?” Ace demanded, glaring.

“Yes, in fact, there is,” Hermes said pleasantly.  “My point is that Pyrrhus was a rather poor choice of an alias.”

Before Ace could shoot, someone else’s gun fired; a bullet tore into Ace’s left arm. Hermes took advantage of the momentary distraction and kicked Ace’s right hand, disarming him.

“Don’t move, or else the next one’s going through your skull,” Hermes warned, picking up Ace’s gun and aiming it at its previous owner.  “My boss is rather ‘trigger happy’, as some might call it.”

“So your mysterious boss -- whom I presumably know well -- was the one who just shot me?” Ace said dryly.  “That _really_ makes me want to talk with her.”

“You still haven’t grasped the situation, Pyrrhus?” Hermes asked, clearly amused.  He paused, looking thoughtful.  “Or should I call you Prometheus now, _Fire Fist_?”

\--

 _Never_ split the party.

\--

Cold metal pressed against the base of Ace’s neck. 

“Good evening, mademoiselle,” Hermes greeted politely, bowing respectfully.

Ace smelled perfume like flowers –

 _Run, run, run…!_

The blood drained out of Ace’s face.

“Hello, dear,” someone whispered softly into Ace’s ear.  “Remember me?”

Ace screamed and ran.

\--

 _"Hello sweetie, what's your name?"_

 _"... Why... did... you..."_

 _"Oh,_ I'm _asking the questions, dear.  It's just a simple thing!  Tell me your name."_

 _“Nn…”_

 _“’No’? Why not, sweetheart?  I want to know your name.  Talk to me.”_

 _Silence._

 _“Not going to say anything?” A sigh.  “A shy one, are you? Don’t worry… I can fix that.”_

\--

Ace tore out of the building, ignoring the exclamations of surprise or alarm from the other guests as he flew past them.  His arm throbbed painfully with every pounding step, but he ignored that too.

 _Run, run, run…!_

All he wanted was to get away.

 _“Isn’t this a_ lovely _story?”_

 _He didn’t answer._

 _“Oh, don’t be a wet blanket.  Shakespeare is a_ genius _– I love this play!  One of the characters even shares my name.”_

 _Silence._

 _“You really don’t like talking, do you?”  An amused giggle.  “It’s alright, silence can be a virtue.  Now, let’s keep reading, shall we?”_

Ace thought he’d never see her again.

 _Was it just a stupid wish? In the end, was it just a stupid wish…? Was everything a stupid, stupid, hopeless wish?_

He continued to run blindly.  Anywhere else.  Anywhere she wasn’t.

 _But what if she’s everywhere?_ his mind thought traitorously.

He didn’t know where he was going.  He was trying to escape, but he didn’t know where the fuck he was going.  Not that it mattered.  She was everywhere – everywhere, everywhere, _everywhere_ …!

 _Run, run, run…!_

But it’s useless!

(You can run but you can’t hide, don’t you see?)

Ace screamed at the futility of it all.

 _“Why don't you ever talk to me, dear?  You know my name now, so doesn’t that make us close?”_

A name means nothing _, he thought._

 _“Let me know your name, sweetie.  It’s not that hard to share, is it?”_

 _He refused to speak with her._

 _“You’re so silent and uncooperative.  Well, if you won’t tell me your name, we’ll just have to make you a new one, hmm?”_

Blood flowed from his arm.  Ace thought idly of Shanks before panic wrenched his recollections away.  He gripped his left arm tightly and ignored the pain, and the memories, and the S, and the other kind of pain, and _everything_ except running –

He failed.

He _failed_ at everything _else_ he had done that was worth doing.

Ace stumbled and ran for the sake of running and not much else because it was useless trying to hide from her.  He would never escape.

He would just fail.

 _“A name is important, yes?  It defines a person.  That’s why I wanted to know your name.  I wanted to know_ you _.  But you don’t want to share…”_

 _Silence._

 _“You’re irritating.  I asked nicely didn’t I?_ Didn’t _I?!”_

 _A slapping sound and a choked gasp._

 _“See? You_ can _make noise.  You just_ don’t _.  And that’s irritating._ It’s very irritating _!”_

 _I’m home?_ Ace thought wearily. 

He staggered towards his apartment, gasping for air.  He looked around fearfully.  She could be there, or there, _or there_ …! 

( _She’s everywhere_ , don’t you see?)

He almost fell down the stairs; his legs just _folded_ underneath him and he collapsed in a bloody, terrified mess.  Inhale.  Exhale.  Standing back up before resuming the futile getaway.

(It’s useless, don’t you see?  She’s _everywhere_ , don’t you see?)

 _Home, home, home…_ Ace said mentally, willing himself to at least make it to the door.  Lying with all his heart.  Because it wasn’t a home.  It was just an apartment.  A place where he lived.  _Always_ a place he lived and _never_ a home.

Homes were safe.

(You _have no home_ , don’t you see? She’s everywhere!)

 _“It’s irritating, don’t you see?! Imagine trying to talk to someone and they_ never fucking answer _you.  How would you feel?_ How would you feel _?!”_

 _He almost cried but ignored the pain._ Ignorance is bliss… ignorance is bliss…

 __

 _“Well you’d feel like fucking_ shit _, that’s how you’d feel!  You’d feel disrespected.  I feel_ disrespected _,_ don’t you see _?!”_

 _Stop ignoring me!_ Ace’s arm stated.  _I_ hurt _, so stop ignoring me! Don’t be so disrespectful!_

Ace ignored it.  He fumbled with the keys – his hands were trembling too much – and managed to unlock his door.  There was no one around.

(Except _her_ , because she’s everywhere, don’t you see?)

The fire inside him wanted to spill out and just fucking _burn_ everything to hell but he extinguished the strong urge.  He was just panicking.  The pain in his arm was deluding him. His body just wanted to heal itself.  He’d ignore the fire.

Nobody ever noticed.

He went inside and felt more trapped then before.

There was nowhere left to run.

(It doesn’t matter, don’t you see?)

 _“Did you think it doesn’t matter?  That it_ doesn’t matter _if you ignore me? That nothing would_ happen _if you just ignored me?!  Did you think that?_ Did you _?!”_

( _Nothing matters_ , don’t you see?)

 _“Well it_ does _matter, you fucking shit!  I was nice to you, and this is how you repay me.  Then forget being nice.  I_ curse _you.  If you’re going to be silent, then_ stay _fucking silent.  Nobody will care about you anymore.  You won’t fucking exist. You’ll be_ nothing _.  Because you don’t matter, don’t you see?  You don’t fucking matter to_ anyone _!”_

Ace collapsed again.  He lay on the cold floor and panted shallowly.  His arm didn’t hurt enough that it felt numb, or little enough that he could completely ignore it.  He struggled out of his jacket and shirt, and pressed the sodden pieces of fabric to his arm to staunch the flow of blood. They were ruined anyways, and it wasn’t like he’d ever wear them again.

 _Burn it away, just burn it away.  Burn the pain to hell_.

He ignored the impulse.

 _Just burn everything to hell._

He ignored his own thoughts.

 _Burn_ her _to hell._

He… ign… couldn’t…

\--

 _OTHELLO_

 _Ay, let her rot, and perish, and be damned to-night;  
_ _for she shall not live: no, my heart is turned to  
_ _stone; I strike it, and it hurts my hand. O, the  
_ _world hath not a sweeter creature: she might lie by  
_ _an emperor's side and command him tasks._

 _IAGO_

 _Nay, that's not your way._

_OTHELLO_

 _Hang her! I do but say what she is: so delicate  
_ _with her needle: an admirable musician: O! she  
_ _will sing the savageness out of a bear: of so high  
_ _and plenteous wit and invention:--_

 _IAGO_

 _She's the worse for all this._

 _OTHELLO_

 _O, a thousand thousand times: and then, of so  
_ _gentle a condition!_

 _IAGO_

 _Ay, too gentle._

 _OTHELLO_

 _Nay, that's certain: but yet the pity of it, Iago!  
_ _O Iago, the pity of it, Iago!_

_IAGO_

 _If you are so fond over her iniquity, give her  
_ _patent to offend; for, if it touch not you, it comes  
_ _near nobody._

 _OTHELLO_

 _I will chop her into messes: cuckold me!_

_IAGO_

 _O, 'tis foul in her._

_OTHELLO_

 _With mine officer!_

_IAGO_

 _That's fouler._

_OTHELLO_

 _Get me some poison, Iago; this night: I'll not  
_ _expostulate with her, lest her body and beauty  
_ _unprovide my mind again: this night, Iago._

_IAGO_

 _Do it not with poison, strangle her in her bed, even  
_ _the bed she hath contaminated._

_OTHELLO_

 _Good, good: the justice of it pleases: very good._

\--

 _Burn her to hell._

(Then everything will go away, don’t you see?)

Ace… couldn’t…

 _Run, run, run…!_

He couldn’t run anymore.

 _Burn her to hell. Kill her. Kill her!_

(It’d be _justice_ , don’t you see?)

He couldn’t.  He _wouldn’t_.  Not anymore.  Not again.  No more.  _No_ fucking _more_.

 _Kill her! Kill her!  Kill her!_

(You’ve _always wanted to_ , don’t you see?)

 _“You think you’re miserable now?  Just you wait.  I’m going to make you_ wish _you were dead.  But dying is too good for you.  I’ll just give you hell here.  Still not talking to me?!  Well you’ll talk soon enough.  You’ll be screaming for mercy, and I won’t give any to you.  You’ll be screaming for a miracle, but you won’t get any.  Because the Devil doesn’t give miracles.”_

(If you don’t kill her, you’re _fucked_ , don’t you see?)

 _“You’ll try to kill yourself or die, but_ I won’t let you _, you piece of shit.  And don’t even_ think _of killing me, because you_ can’t _.  I’m the only one who talks to you and values your existence.  To me you’re shit but to everyone else you’re_ nothing _.  So which is worse?”_

 _He didn’t answer._

 _“Not talking again? Oh, you’ll change.  I’ll make sure of that. Soon you’ll talk, but by then you’ll be ignored.  Nobody will hear you._ Nobody _.  Your words will mean_ nothing _, just like mine to you now.  It’ll be_ poetic justice _, don’t you see?”_

(You better kill her.  Otherwise, she’ll stay, don’t you see?  _You’ll never escape_ , don’t you see?)

 _Kill her!  Kill her!_

Ace stared at the S, unable to ignore its presence any longer.

 _“Do you like it? It can mean anything you want.  Like ‘Silent’, since you’re so good at being that.  Or ‘Slut’, since you’re_ going _to be good at that once I’m through with you.  Personally, I think ‘Shit’ sounds pretty nice, but I’ll let your imagination have some fun.”_

(Why aren’t you trying to kill her?  She’ll _never leave_ you, don’t you see?)

 _Kill her!  Kill her!_ Kill her!

 __

Ace couldn’t – not again – he wouldn’t – no matter how much he wanted to.

(Don’t you see? You’re a _worthless, spineless, fucking coward_ , don’t you see?)

 _“Aw, poor dear… you look like you want to cry… shh, it’s okay, I’m here for you.  It hurts, right?  Don’t worry, the pain will go away.  It’s just a little tattoo of your name.  Should we start over?  Here, I’ll begin.  Hello, S…”_

“It’s me, Desdemona,” she said, smiling.

 _It’s useless to run_ , Ace thought dully.

( _She’s everywhere_ , don’t you see?! _Don’t you fucking see?!_ )

\--

Somewhere, a cellphone didn’t ring.

 _Never_ split the party.

\--

“You’ve grown so handsome,” Desdemona said admiringly, lightly running a thumb across Ace’s paling cheek.

 _He didn’t want her to touch him.  It felt repulsive.  It made Ace feel nauseous._

Ace jerked away and vomited.  His throat burned and he shook.

 _His eyes darted towards the only exit._

“Where are you looking?” Desdemona asked, making Ace’s eyes snap back towards her.  “Still thinking

 _of running away? It’s useless, don’t you see?” she chided sweetly. “I’ll just find you again, and hurt you some more, so it’s a waste of effort for both of us.  Besides, I’d rather_

talk with you,” Desdemona said thoughtfully.  “I know what you’ve been up to lately, but I think it’s time for us to catch up, don’t you agree?”

“Well, I don’t want to talk to you,” Ace said hoarsely.  “I don’t

 _want to talk to you at all,” he whispered, backing away fearfully._

 _“Why not?” Desdemona asked, puzzled.  “I’m the only one that really listens.  Nobody else_ cares _, don’t you see?  I’m the_

only one who _loves_ you,” Desdemona murmured.  Her eyes gleamed brightly with something akin to insanity.

Ace wanted to run away, but there was nowhere left to run to.

( _She’s everywhere_ , don’t you see?)

Desdemona stared at him coldly and abruptly

 _kicked him in the side.  Ace fell over, coughing, before he let out a choked gasp when his arm was gripped too tightly.  He gritted his teeth and willed himself not to cry._

 _“Isn’t_

it beautiful?” Desdemona said softly, twisting Ace’s left arm so that she could look at his tattoo clearly.  She traced the S with a red-painted nail, ignoring Ace’s obvious pain.  “But what did you do with it?  You _ruined_ it.”

Ace swallowed the urge to make a noise when the psychotic bitch fucking _clawed_ his bleeding wound.  He clenched his jaw harder when Desdemona’s grip tightened, making his vision blur dangerously.

“You changed your name,” Desdemona said, disgusted.  “So is this your ‘real name’, S?  ‘Ace’, is it?”  A cold, mocking laugh.  “What an unsuitable name!  As if you’d _ever_ succeed or excel at anything, silly boy.  The name I gave you is _so much more fitting_ , don’t you see?”

\--

 _DESDEMONA_

 _Why, sweet Othello,--_

 _OTHELLO  
_

 _[Striking her] Devil!_

 _DESDEMONA  
_

 _I have not deserved this._

 _LODOVICO  
_

 _My lord, this would not be believed in Venice,  
_ _Though I should swear I saw't: 'tis very much:  
_ _Make her amends; she weeps._

 _OTHELLO_

 _O devil, devil!  
_ _If that the earth could teem with woman's tears,  
_ _Each drop she falls would prove a crocodile.  
_ _Out of my sight!_

\--

“You’re not… Shakespeare’s… Desdemona…” Ace said with difficulty.  His eyesight was starting to fail.  “Your… name… doesn’t… fit…  You’re…like Iago…”

Desdemona slapped him.  “No, I’m not Iago,” she sneered.  “I’m a _Devil_.  Just like you.”  She interrupted a weak protest from Ace with another slap that knocked him over.  Before Ace’s increasingly sluggish body had a chance to react, Desdemona wrenched Ace’s mouth open and viciously jammed the barrel of her gun into it, cutting off any further speech.

Cold.  It was _cold_.  And Ace instinctively knew that there was a seastone bullet somewhere inside of that gun.

“Don't deny it, _Fire Fist_ ,” Desdemona snarled, her beautiful face twisting into something hideous.  “You burned me five years ago when you escaped, you bastard.  You fucking _ruined_ my back.  You’re a Child of the Devil.”

Ace struggled to escape.  He failed.

“You said my name didn’t fit,” Desdemona hissed, one arm clutching Ace’s injured arm and making his eyes water and squeeze shut from pain.  “Do you know what my name means, S?  ‘Of the devil’.  We have more in common than you think, don’t you see? We’re practically _family_ by now…”

 _You’re not my fucking family!_ Ace wanted to shout furiously, but his voice couldn’t leave his throat.

“ _Now_ you try to talk,” Desdemona said, chuckling.  Her finger touched the trigger.  The safety on the pistol was off.  “It’s just too bad that

 _nobody will ever hear what you say, even if you scream.  Because nobody loves you, don’t you see?”  She_ laughed _at him.  “Nobody loves you or cares about you because_

you’re worthless shit.  Scream all you want.  If you resist, you’ll incriminate yourself as Fire Fist, and the government will detain you for the rest of your life.  Now, I suggest you die _peacefully_ and _willingly_ so that I don’t have to use a bullet that _will_ rip through your skull, whether you want it to or not.”  Desdemona shoved the gun slightly forward and laughed when Ace gagged.

(You’re _so fucked_ , don’t you see?)

“It was fun following your activities over all these years,” Desdemona said quietly.  “It was like watching my own child grow up!  Oh, you used people so _wonderfully_.”  She kissed Ace’s damp forehead lovingly, but _it wasn’t love_ and it made Ace’s chest constrict tightly.  “I was so proud of you,” she whispered.  “I felt like a mother!  What a good child you turned out to be – lying to everyone, whoring with strangers, and murdering your friends.”

Ace wanted her to stop talking.  It was making him sick.  And he knew that _she knew_ that and was enjoying herself all the same.  “Help,” he managed to say, even though nobody would hear his strangled voice.

“Don’t worry,” Desdemona murmured, smiling like the fucking lunatic she was.  “It’s all over now.”  And maybe that was a good thing.

 _Goodbye, Luffy_ , Ace thought.

There was a gunshot –

\--

 _Never_ split the damn party!

It takes way too long for it to reform, you _idiot_.

\--

\-- but he wasn’t dead.

Desdemona jerked away from Ace with a shriek of pain.  She dropped the gun and clutched her bleeding shoulder.  “How _dare_ you –” she started furiously before she crumpled into an unconscious heap after an impressive blow to her head.

Ace blinked blearily at his ‘saviour’.  “Hey,” he greeted, voice raspy, feeling ridiculous due to his awkward sprawl on the floor.  Not like he could do much at this point, but still.

Smoker snorted and holstered his gun.  “You look like shit,” he commented, as blunt as ever.

“I feel like it too,” Ace said, closing his eyes wearily.  “Where the hell did you come from?”

“Your front door,” Smoker replied dryly, “which, by the way, has a rather interesting smear of blood on it.  I bet your neighbours will love the new décor when they see it tomorrow.”

“More like they’ll scream and call the police, unless they haven’t by now after hearing a gunshot,” Ace said, smirking faintly.  “But seriously, didn’t you have to do something…?”

“Finished,” Smoker grumbled.  “Went back to the office and found your phone.”  A familiar scowl surfaced.  “Fucking _idiot_ , who leaves something as important as your _only phone_ – which is _empirical_ knowledge to me, since you neglected to mention that, you _moron_ – on my _desk_ , which you _still_ haven’t learned _not to fucking touch_.”

“Thanks,” Ace muttered.  “Done yet?”

“Hell no,” Smoker snarled.  “What the _fuck_ were you trying to pull?!”

“Um, honesty…?” Ace supplied feebly, smiling with as much charm as someone who was shot and covered with blood and vomit could muster.  (C’est-à-dire, not much.)  He tried getting up but couldn’t move.  “Shit…”

“Just stay there, emergency services are probably coming soon,” Smoker stated.  He dragged Desdemona over to Ace’s coffee table and handcuffed her to one of the legs.  Smoker also gave her a small kick in the ribs.  Ace wisely chose not to comment on it.

“Whatever you say, _sir_ ,” Ace mumbled, feeling vaguely light-headed.

Smoker sat down next to Ace and propped him up into a more comfortable semi-sitting position.  “Did you at _least_ find _something_ useful after all this?” he sighed.  “And who the hell is she?  An escaped patient from a fucking asylum?”

“I’ll tell you later…” Ace whispered, slowly drifting off.  As he slipped into unconsciousness, he dwelled on the fact that it seemed like Smoker had heard his plea for help.  He knew it wasn’t possible, but…

… The feeling of being heard was nice…

“I’m still pissed off at you,” Smoker grumbled, his voice sounding distant.

Ace smiled weakly in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regarding names (in order of appearance):  
> 1\. Theron - Means "hunter" in Ancient Greek  
> 2\. Hermes - Possibly meaning "cairn, pile of stones" in Greek. Hermes was a Greek god associated with speed and good luck, who served as a messenger to Zeus. He was also the patron of travellers, writers, athletes, merchants, thieves and orators.  
> 3\. Orion - Meaning unknown, but possibly related to Greek ‘οριον (horion) "boundary, limit". This is the name of a constellation, which gets its name from a legendary Greek hunter killed by a scorpion sent by Gaia.  
> 4\. Pyrrhus - From the Greek name Πυρρος (Pyrros) which meant "flame-coloured, red", related to πυρ (pyr) "fire". This was another name of Neoptolemus the son of Achilles. This was also the name of a 3rd-century BC king of Epirus.  
> 5\. Prometheus - Derived from Greek προμηθεια (prometheia) meaning "foresight, forethought". In Greek myth he was the Titan who gave the knowledge of fire to mankind. For doing this he was punished by Zeus, who had him chained to a rock and caused an eagle to feast daily on his liver, which regenerated itself each night. He was eventually freed by Herakles.  
> 6\. Spadille - The ace of spades in omber and quadrille. In popular myth and folklore, it is also known as the "death card".  
> 7\. Desdemona - of the devil; derived from Greek δυσδαιμων (dysdaimon) meaning "ill-fated". This was the name of the murdered wife of Othello in Shakespeare's play 'Othello' (1603)


	4. IV

 

 **IV**

 

or variable factor,

 _Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall,  
_ _Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.  
_ _All the King’s horses  
_ _And all the King’s men  
_ _Couldn’t put Humpty together again._

 

\--

Ace blinked in disorientation at the painfully out-of-place and colourful streamers hanging throughout his shared office.  He shifted his gaze to his disgruntled partner’s face, then to the small crowd of excited people, then back to the festive decorations.

“Happy twenty-first birthday, Ace!” the people chimed in unison except for Smoker who muttered, “Get out of my office you damn slackers.”

“Oh, right,” Ace said blankly.  “Uh, how did you guys know?”  A vague, irritated grunt that sounded like “Your _file_ , Pormoron” made Ace say, “Ah, um, thanks.  This was… unexpected.”  He regarded his eager co-workers -- minus the notable exception -- and smiled gratefully.  Well, Ace _hoped_ it managed to turn out grateful.  In his limited experience, grimacing wasn’t the best way to thank people for their troubles.

Ace endured the next half hour of well-wishes, small gifts, even a bit of cake, and large amounts of noise.  Eventually he managed to shoo everyone out under the pretence that they were irritating Smoker.  It proved effective; the decorations were taken down in minutes and soon peace returned to the small office, making Ace sigh quietly in relief.

“You could’ve just _asked_ them to leave,” Smoker snorted, leafing through the pages in the folder he was currently perusing.

“A bit mean, don’t you think?” Ace said dryly, flinging himself into his chair, rolling across the floor from the momentum.  After a reproachful glare from Smoker, Ace scooted back to his desk while sporting a vaguely amused grin.

“If you _don’t want_ them here it’s not considered ‘mean’, idiot,” Smoker grumbled.

“It’s not really their fault,” Ace quipped, tidying his desk a little bit.  “How could they know that I don’t really like parties?”  _Or birthdays_ , he added silently, _especially mine._

“They’d know if you told them,” Smoker pointed out, “or if you stopped pretending to be social.”

“Practice makes perfect?” Ace suggested wryly.  He ignored Smoker’s curt ‘tsk’ and the fact that it was getting harder to hide things from his observant partner.  _Maybe my lying skills have worsened_ , Ace contemplated.  _I’ll have to be more careful from now on, I suppose._

Ace refused to acknowledge the slight possibility that Smoker was starting to know him.

\--

 _Happy birthday!  Congratulations, he’s twelve.  Only an unknown number of fucking years left to go!  Might be more than fifty, might be less than one.  Who knows?_

 _Enjoy the last year of childhood while he can.  He’s almost a teen, and almost a man, or at least in terms of age.  In terms of other things?  Well, he’s seen far worse than many adults, and knows by now that it nearly always gets worse and nearly never gets better.  It’s the way life works. Why? Who knows?  After all, only shit can come from shit._

 _He thought it was bad already.  That being alone was already the fucking worst it could get.  But no, he was wrong.  Being lonely, having the feeling vanish, and then having the happiness_ fucking ripped away _–_ twice _, damn it,_ twice! _– was far, far worse than just staying lonely for an entire lifetime.  You don’t miss what you never had._

 _And this time it was all his fault._

 _Good job!  Congratulations! They’re dead._

 _Happy birthday!  It’ll be happier than the next one, anyhow._

\--

Acting on impulse rarely occurred with Ace, despite his seemingly cocky attitude at times.  Being impulsive usually did nothing good.  In fact, it tended to kill all the _other_ Whitebeard cronies, so Ace decided to favour prudence and not follow in their footsteps.

But while he was digging through years of information on his computer at four fucking fifty two in the morning, Ace couldn’t help but feel tempted to read something he found accidentally.

“A peek won’t hurt,” Ace mumbled to himself, sipping at a cup of coffee.  He wrinkled his nose in distaste; the drink had long become cold, and it was already nasty shit in the first place.  Ace warmed the mug quickly with his hand and smiled wryly at the vaguely domestic use of his inner fire.

Smoker’s file was before him on a dimly glowing screen, and Ace’s damn curiosity was getting the better of him.  The urge to read was strengthened by the fact that Ace had _already_ found another file on Smoker elsewhere, _without_ a password necessary to open it.  _Now why do you have two?_ Ace wondered.

Unfortunately, Ace couldn’t access the file and gave up after numerous failed attempts.  He settled with opening the regular file.  “You’ve already read mine, so this is only fair,” Ace muttered.

 _Name: ‘Smoker’  
ID: 03154575  
Date of Birth: 14/03/1974  
Secret Services, Whitebeard Department: Head of Fire Fist Investigation_

“Tch, whatever…” Ace yawned from want of sleep and boredom.  He skipped over the other general information, not really caring and knowing he wouldn’t remember any of it.  His only points of interest were the fact that Smoker’s real name wasn’t mentioned, even on the file, and the identification numbers of the grumpy bastard.  He discreetly copied Smoker’s ID on a small piece of paper which he tucked into a drawer.  The rest of the information wasn’t very useful.

 _killed by WB’s_

Ace immediately snapped to awareness and stopped scrolling disinterestedly.  He went back to the small section of text that caught his attention.

 _On 14/03/1988, a confrontation between government operatives and WB’s men occurred.  Weapons were fired, killing and injuring many individuals.  One government worker died at the scene, one was critically wounded, and two were mildly injured.  One of WB’s followers was grazed by a bullet but suffered no serious injury.  Four of WB’s men were arrested, and two escaped.  Two civilians, Smoker’s parents, were caught in the confrontation and were hit by stray gunfire.  They were accidentally killed by WB’s followers.  Smoker was unharmed although he was present at the scene._

The date made Ace grimace.  “I guess you don’t like birthdays either,” he murmured grimly, shutting down the computer, “and for the same reason as me.”  Ace decided to call it a day, and was on his way back to his apartment ten minutes later.

He brushed aside the mild guilt that had curled around his exhausted mind, feeling like he had read something he shouldn’t have.

\--

Ace took the phone away from his ear and put it back, hoping that rationality, common sense, and self-preservation had returned to the universe in those few seconds.  “Excuse me?” he said bluntly.

“You heard me the first time: make him fuck you.”

“What the _hell_ , Marco?!” Ace shouted explosively, nearly dropping his toast.  “You call me in the morning before I go to work – in the _middle_ of my _fucking shower_ – _just_ to tell me to have sex with Smoker. Are you fucking _insane?!_ ”

“It’s warfare,” Marco said, sounding smugly amused like he _always was_.  “It’s a legitimate strategy.”

“Yeah, except strategies involve _logic_ and _thought_ , neither of which seem to be present,” Ace grumbled, rubbing his eyes tiredly, not in the mood for this kind of shit.  “Look, you don’t know this guy like I do…”

“Precisely, which is why _you_ are seducing him, and not me,” Marco interrupted.

Ace chewed his toast savagely.  “You know _damn_ well what I meant!” he said, irritated.  “Besides, Smoker gets hit on all the time by stupid women who don’t know any better.  He _always refuses_ , okay?”

“Maybe he’s gay, then,” Marco pointed out.

“He’s not gay, he’s _asexual_ , damn it!” Ace corrected, vein twitching in his forehead.  “He’s _just not fucking interested_ in _anyone_.”

“You’ll change that,” Marco chuckled.

“I said _no_ ,” Ace hissed.  “ _No_ , as in no.  No.  Fucking.  Way.  Understand?!”

“Give it a try, you might get somewhere,” Marco suggested wryly.

“More like he’ll break my balls,” Ace snorted.  “Give me a reason that _isn’t_ ‘it’d be fun watching you try’ as to _why_ you want me to pull off such a suicidal stunt?”

“Why do you normally have sex?” Marco answered.

Ace’s temper flared even more than before.  “ _Fuck you_ , you complete _bastard_ ,” he spat viciously, voice strangled from pure aggravation.

“Wasn’t it the other way around those last few times?”  Marco had one last laugh before hanging up.

It wasn’t until a chagrined neighbour knocked on his door, politely asking if he could tone it down, before Ace stopped swearing furiously at the top of his lungs.

\--

 __

 _Stupid.  So fucking stupid!_

Ace must have been on an idiocy streak.  Or Marco had finally turned him into an utter moron by destroying his logic and rationality.  Or it was _Smoker_ , damn him, that had finally turned him into an utter moron by destroying his logic and rationality.

Because that?  That was possibly the dumbest moment of his life.

“What the _hell_ was that?!” Smoker had yelled at him once he had finally caught up.  Ace had responded with silence, bitter disappointment and hot shame rendering his tongue and vocal cords useless, so he did nothing but stare wretchedly at the ground near his feet.

 _Stupid.  So stupid._

Hope was turning him into a wishful fool.  Ace didn’t know just when it started – maybe it was when Whitebeard said that this was his last job; maybe it was when Smoker didn’t reveal his narcolepsy, or when he saved his life; maybe it was when Desdemona was arrested; maybe it was when he got out of the hospital with a beautiful scar that had wonderfully, thankfully sliced the S in two…  But somewhere, Ace had started changing, and it scared him shitless.

The blind hope that he was _so close_ to being able to see Luffy was fucking with his mind.

Dreams.  Ace had finally stopped having nightmares of Desdemona.  He just dreamt of Luffy, smiling and safe and _alive_ , and he’d wake up just _wanting_ so badly it _hurt_.

So when Ace faintly saw a distant flash of red, messy black hair, and traces of light laughter, he reacted without thinking.

He _jumped_ out of a _fucking car_.  That was _driving_.  On a _busy street_ during _rush hour_.

Smoker had been swearing.  Ace doubted it was concern; it was probably shock or plain incredulity.

Ace had ran and ran and ran, trying to catch up with someone he desperately hoped was his brother, barrelling past surprised pedestrians and ignoring angry drivers’ blaring car horns.  He had practically lunged at the person that he had chased once he had caught up, and –

\-- It wasn’t Luffy.

“Are you okay?” the _complete stranger_ had asked, concerned.

“Y-yeah, I thought you were someone else,” Ace had found himself saying, before stumbling away quickly.

 _So,_ so _stupid…!_

And now, back in Smoker’s car (which he had fucking jumped out of to – why the _hell_ wasn’t he dead yet?) with an extremely pissed off driver, Ace felt extra shitty.

“What the fuck is your _problem_?” Smoker suddenly snarled, startling Ace out of his sullen thoughts.  “If you don’t _want_ me to call you fucking retarded on a daily basis, this isn’t the way to go about it, you _idiot_!”

“Shit… I _know_ that was stupid,” Ace snapped, closing his eyes tightly.

“No, you _know_ shit because you fucking did it anyways,” Smoker grumbled.  “ _What_ did you jump out of the car for?!”

“Nothing…” Ace said through clenched teeth.

“’Nothing’ my ass,” Smoker said, scowling.  “People don’t claw their way out of moving cars and run almost four blocks for _nothing_.”

“I said it’s nothing, okay?” Ace hissed. “Just… just drop it.”  _I don’t want to talk about this now.  Or ever._

“It’s something,” Smoker said, “and don’t deny it.  _Hell_ , you’re the _worst_ liar I’ve ever met so just _stop_ with the fucking façade already.”

Ace froze.  “W-what?”  He mentally kicked himself for the accidental stutter.

“You think I haven’t noticed?”  Smoker spared a second and shot a glare at Ace before returning his eyes to the road.  “You’ve been lying and hiding things ever since we met.  You know why I hate you? Because I hate damn dishonesty and people that act the way you do.  It’s disgusting.”

And then Ace found an arm hooking around his waist and preventing him from jumping out the car again.  “Let me go!” Ace exclaimed angrily.

Smoker barked a short, humourless laugh.  “And let you run away? No.”

 _I want to get out_ , Ace thought.  He felt sick.  “I said let me _go_ , you bastard!”  He unbuckled his seatbelt and twisted free.

The car lurched right as Smoker abruptly turned into a small, empty street before slamming onto the brakes.

Ace leapt out of the car and managed to run a few metres before being tackled into the asphalt.  He grunted slightly in pain and thrashed furiously.  “Get off me you fucker!”

“Not until you tell me why you fucking jumped out of the car the _first_ time,” Smoker said dryly.

“I said it was _nothing_ ,” Ace said, trying to escape only to have his angrily flailing limbs pinned.  And hell, Ace was no damn weakling but he _couldn’t fucking move_ because Smoker was just _heavy_.  Plus, the man currently crushing him wasn’t mentally or physically exhausted from running after a complete stranger like a crazed lunatic.

“Liar,” Smoker growled.

“Get _off_!” Ace shouted.

“Then tell me the _truth_ for once!” Smoker demanded.

Ace cringed. “I can’t!”

“Damn coward, what’s so good about hiding behind lies?” Smoker asked bitingly.

Coward.

That’s what it all boiled down to.

He was a fucking coward.

 _Stupid…!_

Ace wrenched away from Smoker – not like the man was trying especially hard to hold him back any more – and ran away.  And as he ran, he wondered if Smoker unsettled him because he had the same eyes he remembered Luffy had: eyes that could see right through people.  They had eyes that could cut through lies and show nothing but the truth.  So of course Ace was a coward.  Who _wouldn’t_ be afraid?

The truth was sometimes far too terrifying.

\--

“You look like shit today,” Ace commented to the scraggly, exhausted figure in the reflective glass.

The man said nothing in reply.

“Smoker was right,” Ace continued, determined to _hurt_ the hollow person staring blankly back at him, because he fucking deserved it.  “You _are_ a coward.”  A pause.  “They’re too similar.  You can see it in their eyes.  They’re too _good_ compared to you.  And it hurts, doesn’t it?  It hurts that you can’t possibly be as courageous or strong as them no matter how hard you try.  So you’re always hiding.  Lies are easier than facing things head-on, so you just keep lying and lying until there’s nothing left that’s _not_ a fucking lie.”

The man seemed pained.  Good.  He should be.

“You pretend to love being with people when you’d rather run away from them.  They scare you shitless because sometimes they seem like they _do_ care, but you know they don’t because they don’t know the real you. It was never _shown_ to them.  And you don’t show them your true self because it’s fucking ugly.  So they ‘love’ your fake disguise, and you pretend that you can live with that, because at least they love _something_ about you!”

The reflection inhaled shakily like he wanted to defend himself, but Ace interrupted him.

“See?  Excuses.  All excuses.  You try to justify things all the time.  ‘They deserved it.  They had it coming.  I didn’t mean to.  He made me do it. I had no choice.’  Lies.  All fucking _lies_!”  Rage and disgust knotted itself in Ace’s abdomen.  “You hate Whitebeard because he’s just like you!  You hate Desdemona because she’s right!  _Everyone_ you hate is like you in some way, so you hate them to seem like you’re _not_ like them!”

Ace laughed humourlessly.  “Well, I know better.  You’re the worst human alive because you lie even to _yourself_ , trying to delude yourself into thinking you’re _worth_ something.  But the joke’s on you now, because you’re stuck with a man with fucking ­ _x-ray vision_ as a partner, and he sees right through you.  You’re scared of him, aren’t you?  You’re scared of his eyes.  Because they can see the repulsive and twisted soul you have.  He said it himself: ‘It’s disgusting’.  No _wonder_ he hates you.  He can see what you’re _really_ like.”

The empty glass man looked like he’d break any second now.  It was time for the conversation to end.

“All that research you’re doing for him? You told yourself it was to prove that you were right in that stupid argument weeks ago.  Well, I know the real reason.” Ace clenched his hands into fists.  “You wanted him to like you and appreciate the fact that you showed him a truth he couldn’t see.  You wanted him to stop hating you.  Why?  Because he’s _just like Luffy_ , and if Smoker _hates_ you, then… then…!”

 _Maybe Luffy will too_.

Ace saw the devastating revelation crash over his grief-stricken victim.  He punched the man in the face and watched with satisfaction as he shattered into jagged pieces with a resounding crack.

“I hate you more than anyone else,” Ace proclaimed venomously.

He didn’t bother picking up the broken pieces from the floor.

\--

 _"W-w-wh…"_

 _"Keep moving."_

 _"What happened to them?"_

 _"I said to keep moving, you fucking runt."_

 _"W-why are th –"_

 _"They were failures."_

 _"Failures?"_

 _"Their bodies couldn't handle the change, so the Devil consumed them."_

 _"Am…am… am I…?"_

 _"Stop stuttering, damn brat.  You won't die."_

 _"How do you know?"_

 _"You're his son after all."_

 _"I… I don't understa –"_

 _"Get in!"_

 _"W-what's happe –"_

 _"You're going to bring hell on earth."_

 _There was a prick at the base of his neck, and flames shot up his spine._

\--

Curious, trembling hands slowly and hopefully typed a name.

[ MONKEY D. LUFFY. ]

Enter.

A warning sound and text flashed across the screen.

[ ACCESS DENIED. ]

The abused keyboard was hammered at with angry and resentful fingertips.

[ FUCK YOU WHITEBEARD. ]

\--

Lately it was difficult for Ace to be around Smoker.

Things continued as they always did at work. First a grumbled complaint, followed by an exasperated response, then a sarcastic repartee seconds later, and finally a resigned sigh. 

It seemed like it normally was, but something had finally broken along the way.  Ace knew it wouldn't be fixed until he fixed himself, which was as good as never.  Normally he wouldn't have cared, but for some reason, Ace could not figure out _why_ the idea of being on bad terms with a temporary partner rankled him so deeply.  He chalked it up to a delayed and accumulated guilty conscience and left it at that.

And so Ace continued to live without living until he received a call from Marco.

"Pops wants to see you."


	5. V

 

 **V**

 

number,

 **  
**

_Yet from those flames,  
_   
_No light, but rather darkness visible._

 

 _(John Milton, Paradise Lost)_

\--

 

Ace hated suits.  They were restrictive and controlling and conforming.  When wearing them, he didn't feel like _himself_.  (Not like he had a damn clue what 'himself' was, but he knew what it _wasn't_.)

Whitebeard made everyone wear suits when talking to him.  It maintained a sense of professionalism, or whatever bullshit he said.  So Ace would be wearing another person's skin.

He looked forward to the day he could burn every suit he owned and walk around in whatever he wanted.

\--

"Welcome back," Marco said blandly when Ace stepped out of the helicopter.  "Your room is in the same place as usual."

Ace grunted in acknowledgement (wait, what? when did he start acting like Smoker?).  He noticed the luggage Marco had with him.  "Going somewhere?"

"I have a job to do," Marco answered vaguely.

Nodding, Ace waited for the other man to leave before heading into the facility.  He took his time wandering through the familiar iron and concrete labyrinth until he reached his door.

A few buttons, a touch of a finger, a spoken word, and Ace had successfully returned to his prison.

\--

 _"Hey."_

 _No response._

 _"Say something, at least."_

 _"I'm busy."_

 _"Damn it Smoker, I wouldn't be bothering you if it wasn't important."_

 _"Fine, what is it."_

 _"I'm going to be away for about ten days.  Already got approval from superiors."_

 _"Why."_

 _"Dad needed to talk to me about something.  I'm not sure about what, but my friend said it was urgent."_

 _"You have friends?"_

 _"Haha, very funny.  Although I did use 'friend' loosely this time.  He's a bigger ass than you are, surprisingly.  At least you don't talk my ear off."_

 _"When are you leaving?"_

 _"Next week, probably Tuesday.  Are we doing anything important?"_

 _"Nothing I need you for."_

 _"Alright.  But if something important comes up, call me and I'll come back earlier."_

 _"Your father won't care?"_

 _"Ha!  As if he ever gave a shit in the first place."_

\--

Ace coughed and hungrily sucked air into his lungs.  He briefly flared into flame and the bruises around his neck flickered back into unblemished skin.

"You little shit," Whitebeard growled.  "Are you trying to fuck up my plans?"

"Well what was I supposed to do?" Ace snarled.  "Let her shoot me in the fucking head?"  A fist connected with the side of his face and he spat out the resulting blood.  "I'm not planning on getting killed by a lunatic, thanks."

"You have one of our allies locked in fucking solitary."

Ace opened his mouth to explain it was Smoker's fault. 

But nothing came out. 

He let the words fall to the back of his throat and tied them there with silent vocal cords.

Whitebeard glared (reminding Ace of someone) and said, "If you do something like this again you're not getting off this damn easy.  You're nothing but a fucking tool.  Remember: once tools are no longer useful, they are thrown away.  Understand, you fucking shithead?"

And all Ace could do was nod bitterly.

\--

The call came just about ten minutes after midnight in the middle of his way home.

Ace jerked out of sleep at the electronic trilling and reached into his pocket.  "Hello?" he answered, covering his free ear with a hand to block the sound of the helicopter.

"Ah, s-sorry for waking you up, Ace."  It was Tashigi, but with an unfamiliar stutter that indicated something had happened.

"What's wrong?" Ace asked, now wide awake.

"Th-there's been a situation downtown.  Smoker wants y-you to c-come back once you're able to…"

"What's wrong?" Ace repeated.  His wariness increased after hearing what sounded like muffled sobbing.  Then he heard a noise as if someone else was taking Tashigi's phone, and for some reason he knew it was Smoker before the man even spoke.

"Portgas, just get the fuck over here now."

\--

Ace could do nothing but stare.

On the way he had seen the thread of smoke curling ominously, illuminated by the unusual number of floodlights in the area.  Then closer he saw the government vehicles.  After getting off the helicopter a few blocks away and running to the scene, he saw the crowd of police and civilians.  And after getting authorized to pass the blockade, he saw government workers grimly looking at the grisly sight before them.

All he could do was stare.

Broken conversations filtered hazily into Ace's mind.  Whispered phrases abougt  murder and charred bodies and messages of blood –

"Mr. Portgas?"

Ace turned around and looked at one of the many faceless workers at the government.  "Yes?"

"Ms. Shigure told me to pass these to you."

"Thank you," Ace said, accepting the offered file.  He opened it and paused.

Photos of corpses and who they used to be.

Ten photos of ten corpses and… who…

 _RodrigezSpandamWanzeJerryShiryuuKomirKevinMarkAliceSabo –_

He saw a footnote and recognized the shaky scrawl associated with Tashigi.  'Victims correspond with Fire Fist's victims in the past.'

The red ink in the dim lighting made Ace feel sick.

"There's an eleventh one that was different from the others," said the faceless man.  And he pointed.

 _Eleventh?_

Ace returned the papers and walked rigidly away from the crowd.  He noted absently that Smoker was there too, but his eyes were drawn to the bloody text on the wall of a near decimated building.

 **We're watching you.**

 _There's an eleventh one that was different from the others."_

His eyes roved downward –

 _"Going somewhere?"_

 _"I have a job to do."_

Ace took one look at the face of the person he had mistaken for Luffy and promptly threw up.  He faintly heard Smoker walking toward him and saying something, but he couldn't understand a fucking thing and he was shaking like –

A small gasp escaped his lips when Smoker abruptly turned him around.  And Ace accidentally looked at Smoker's face and saw a small sliver of something in the steely eyes that he associated with Luffy and –

"Portgas. What the fuck is wrong with you."

\-- and it was fucking _concern_ , damn it all –

"No…thi…"

 _I'm not okay.  I'm not okay.  I'm not fucking okay, I'm not I'm not I'm not I'm not I'm –_

"Portgas."

"Everything," Ace choked, before closing his eyes and seeing nothing but ashes.


	6. VI

 

 **VI**

 

person,

 _Parva saepe scintilla contempta magnum excitavit incendium.  
_ _A spark neglected has often raised a conflagration._

 _(Quintus Curtius Rufus, De Rebus Gestis Alexandri Magni)_

\--

 

Ace blinked stupidly.  "What."

Smoker glared.  "I said to _let me in_ , fucking idiot."

"Um."  And so Ace complied.  "There a particular reason why you're here?  It's not like you'd voluntarily _visit_ me."  Seeing as Smoker had no snappy comeback, Ace was temporarily taken aback.  "Wait.  You _are_ vis –"

"Shut the fuck up, Portgas."

"Ah, there's the bastard we know and love," Ace muttered.

Smoker snorted in derision and eyed Ace.  "You look like shit again."

"Expand your vocabulary already, I'm sure I'm far more handsome than crap."  Ace seated himself on his kitchen table.  He watched Smoker scrutinize his apartment.  "I'm sorry it's messy…?" he ventured, not knowing what the other man was thinking, as usual.

"You live here?"  Smoker frowned.

Ace laughed.  The unnatural noise grated against his ears and his nerves.  "Uh yeah.  Excellent deduction, my dear Holmes."

"It looks like my office."

And Ace stopped laughing.  He knew what Smoker meant now.

"You don't live here," Smoker observed.  "It's just an apartment."

Not a home.

 _He understood_.  Ace promptly eradicated that traitorous thought.

"You have a black eye."  Smoker pointed.

Ace blinked stupidly for the second time in ten minutes.  "I do?"  He thought he had healed everything.  He didn't want Smoker to think he had an abusive father or some other sobstory crap.  He didn't need to seem _more_ fucked up in the head.

"How did you not notice?  Don't you have a damn mirror?"

"I used to.  I broke it."

"Why the fuck would you do that?"

A wry smile stretched Ace's freckled face.  "Because, as you so eloquently put it earlier, I look like shit."

There was a short pause.  "Why do you think everything is wrong with you?" Smoker demanded.

"I thought you'd agree."  Ace smirked.

"I do," Smoker said.  "I just want to know why you think that."

Ace shrugged nonchalantly.  "After twenty one years, there's still nothing to prove me wrong."

They dropped the topic and began a bland and neutral conversation on the coffee place near work.


	7. VII

 

 **VII**

 

or thing;

 

 _Le cœur a ses raisons que la raison ne connaît pas.  
_ _The heart has its reasons that reason does not know._

 _(Blaise Pascal, Pensées)_

 

\--

 

Ace had always thought friendship was an odd thing.  It was something intangible that could be felt.  It was something invisible that could be seen.  It was something free that could be worth everything to someone. 

He didn't understand it; he wasn't very well-versed in matters of the heart.

\--

"So… why are we having a coffee break?"  Ace couldn't hold back the urge to ask any longer.

"I'm fucking tired of doing paperwork," said Smoker, his mood oh-so-foul.

Ace caught himself smiling and fixed his face.  A strange notion overcame him and before he could think about it, his voice had already said, "I can do some of it if you want." 

He was sure Smoker's surprise mirrored his own, and Ace vaguely wondered why his body parts were slowly betraying him.

"You'd just fuck it up," Smoker said finally, sipping his black coffee.

"You're welcome," Ace muttered dryly.  He blinked when Smoker stared at him _again_.  "Okay, honestly.  Do I have another black eye I don't know about?  If not, stop looking at me, it's creepy as hell."

"You still look like you'll vomit any second," Smoker commented.  "If you're still sick, don't go to work and pass the fucking plague to me."

Ace peeled off another smile (damn, why was his face broken?) and drank the hot bitter liquid in his cup.  "You could just say 'Stay home and rest until you get better' like a normal person.  But thanks for worrying about me." 

He expected Smoker to say 'Who would care about _you_?' but was met with silence. 

 _Maybe Smoker is broken too_ , Ace thought idly.

"You're strange today," he stated, feeling the need to point it out.

"At least I'm not always strange," Smoker retorted.

 _He really is easier to deal with when he's being difficult_ , Ace concluded.

\--

"You're feeling better now, right?"  Tashigi fidgeted with the hem of her dress shirt.

"Yes I am, thanks for asking."  Ace smiled, for the moment giving up on repairing his malfunctioning facial expressions.

"No need to thank me!" Tashigi stated.  She paused before slowly saying, "The person you really should thank is Smoker.  He did some of your work for you while you were away."

Ace's brain faltered.

Smoker.

Doing.

Paperwork.

He dashed fearfully to his office, ignored the exclamations of surprise from the people he passed, slammed open the door, and pressed a hand to Smoker's forehead.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing?!" Smoker growled, swatting at the offending appendage.

"I think you're dying," Ace said calmly and with dead seriousness.  "Stop squirming, I need to check your temperature right away."

"Stop fucking touching me!"

\--

 _"Ace?"_

 _"Yeah?"_

 _"How can we tell that someone likes you?"_

 _"Um… why are you asking?"_

 _"Because I want to know."_

 _"Well… I'm not sure… but I guess, it's like us?"_

 _"So if someone acts like you do, then they like me?"_

 _"I don't know, Lu!  Ask me about other things."_

 _"But this is important!"_

 _"How?"_

 _"So you know!"_

\--

Ace woke up, mind still foggy from the wispy remnants of a distant memory.

"I forgot about that," he whispered, reflecting on things that were happening recently.  "You were right Lu, it really was important.  I almost couldn't tell."

Smoker didn't hate him.

And a small smile crept onto his face. It felt weird, but he let it stay there.

Ace rather liked his face that way.

\--

They were just walking back to work after lunch break when a little girl barrelled into Smoker's leg, getting her ice cream all over his pants.

Ace blinked, looked at Smoker, at the girl, at the ice cream, back at Smoker, then at the girl's panicked father who was running toward them and apologizing.  And Ace was _sure_ that Smoker would get pissed at the hapless child – after all, this was the hulk of a man who complained every time someone (i.e. Ace) touched his desk.

But the older man just _patted_ her on the head, _gave her some change_ , and then _without glaring_ said gruffly, "Sorry, my pants ate your ice cream.  Try five scoops next time."

The idea of Smoker as an approachable, _normal_ human being saying _his pants ate ice cream_ was so _fucking absurd_ that Ace started choking so hard he cried and fell over onto his ass.

He figured out after a few seconds that he was laughing.

And _damn_ , Smoker had the funniest bitchy look on his face.

"First time I've seen you really smile," Ace gasped, face red and breathless, as an explanation to his sudden and unexpected outburst.

"First time I've seen you really laugh," Smoker countered.

Ace grinned, and _God_ it felt _so fucking good_ to do that.  "I guess this finally proves that we're both really humans after all."  And the smile cracked his face irreparably wider when Smoker grunted in agreement.

They didn't bother going back to work after that.

\--

Ace's phone, forgotten on a desk, had a message.

'Good times never last.'


End file.
